The Demon of Winterfell
by Kiara Biersack
Summary: Emmelyne Stark is fifteen, Ned's eldest daughter. Across Westeros she is known as 'the Demon of Winterfell.' A Red Priestess, she worships R'hllor, the Lord of Light. When the king and his family come to Winterfell, Emmelyne knows that it marks the beginning of dark days. Despite her pleading, her father insists on taking all three of his daughters along with him to King's Landing.
1. Prologue

Ten-year-old Emmelyne Stark wandered the woods surrounding Winterfell in silence. She wore no cloak, despite the chill of the winter air. Winterfell, in all its aspects, was a cold place. But when winter came… winter froze kings in their castles. Babies were born and died all through the midst of a single winter. Smallfolk shivered themselves into dreamless sleeps as the wind whistled through the cracks in their homes. Soldiers died on the field, not cut down by men, but cut down by the ice, their swords brittle and cracking.  
But Emmelyne was warm. She didn't know how or why, but the cold did not affect her. She stopped in front of a tree, letting her fingers graze along the bark. There was no ice, as the earlier trees had had. This tree was not cold, like the others. This tree was warm. She wandered deeper, taking care to test each tree. The deeper she got into the forest, the warmer the bark grew.

Finally, she reached a clearing. The clearing, unlike the rest of forest, was bare. No snow lie on the ground, and a brilliant fire roared in the middle of it. There was a man, handsome in all respects, but there was a weariness about him as he stoked the fire carefully, prodding it with a jeweled cane. "Ah, Emmelyne. I've been waiting for you," he said, his voice thin, barely a whisper.

"How- - how do you know my name?" Emmelyne questioned.

The man turned to face her, a tight-lipped smile spreading across his face. "Dear child, the Lord of Light knows all," he replied.

There was a kindness in his voice, and a warm feeling consumed the girl. "Who are you?" she questioned.

He chuckled. "They call me Vyreo."

Emmelyne stepped closer. Vyreo moved his jeweled cane away from the flame, leaning on it heavily as he moved toward her. "You're hurt?" Emmelyne questioned hesitantly.

"No, dear child. I'm old, and will die very soon. But I have one last thing to do before I die," he said.

"What do you have to do?"

"You are the one, Emmelyne Stark. You will be R'hllor's new messenger. You are young, dear child, but there is the warmth inside you. Do you feel it, Emmelyne?"

She nodded slowly, drawing closer to the fire. The flames licked the sky, fiery tongues lashing through the clouds. There had been a time when Emmelyne had dreamed of a fire like this, but these dreams were filled with despair. This fire was joyful. This fire was perfect.

She took a moment to take in Vyreo's appearance. He seemed young, though his face was wrinkled and creased like old leather. He was dressed head-to-toe in red robes. His hair was short, white in color. At his throat he wore a glistening ruby, glowing in the firelight.

A thought seemed to click in Emmelyne's mind. This man was a Red Priest. Old Nan had told her tales of Red Priests once. But they were terrible stories. These men were demons in disguise. But Emmelyne didn't understand how this kind man could be a demon. "Does your father know you're out here, dear child?" Vyreo asked her.

"No," she admitted.

She'd crept from the castle in the dead of night. As she looked around, she began to realize that the sun was starting to rise above the clouds. Vyreo smiled again. "Come, sit by the fire, Emmelyne," he instructed.

She did as told, and instantly her warmth grew, until it almost felt like she were roasting alive. But when she breathed, her breath came out a cool mist. Vyreo sat beside her, letting his robes spill out around him. His pale skin glowed red. "You must let the light consume you, Emmelyne. Become one with the flames," Vyreo whispered, though unlike her, his breath left no cool mist.

She let her hand wander close to the fire, fearing that it would burn her. She began to think this strange man could read her thoughts when he said, "Do not be afraid of the fire, dear girl. It will not harm you."

"Why am I here?" Emmelyne questioned.

Vyreo's hand curled around her shoulder. She looked at his hand, bony and pale, paper-thin skin stretched across the bones. These hands were smooth, completely different from other men's hands Emmelyne had seen. Men in Winterfell's hands were calloused from work, tough and thick like tanned leather. When Emmelyne looked up at Vyreo, he was laughing, though no sound came out. She feared he had gone mad. Old Nan sometimes told stories like that, about men who had grown old and wild, like the Mad King Aerys Targaryen.

Vyreo finally stopped, tapping his jeweled cane against the dirt. He made a soft sound of contentedness, letting the ghost of a true smile grace his pale pink lips. "The flames want you, Emmelyne. They yearn for you. You will be the one, the Prince that was Promised… or, Princess… that was Promised," he offered.

His pale fingers moved to the ruby, and he unclasped the leather collar that contained it. His hands were shaking as he handed Emmelyne the jewel. When she looked at him now, she found herself shocked. His face had turned from the handsome man who had greeted her, to the wrinkled and kind face of Maester Luwin. The name left her lips, barely a whisper. "No, child. Not Maester Luwin. I have taken on the form of him so I can be familiar to you," Vyreo said.

She nodded, smiling at him, her gray eyes glittering with happiness. "Now… I must rest…" Vyreo murmured.

His grip slackened on her shoulder, and he leaned to the side, his jeweled cane lying forgotten in the dirt. He closed his pale pink eyes, and he slept. But Emmelyne stayed awake, gazing into the flames as the shadows of people danced inside of them. She longed to step into the flame and dance with them, but something told her not to.

As the hours slowly passed, she finally allowed sleep to consume her.

She awoke to the sounds of shouting. Her father's voice rang clear above the other men. "Emmelyne!" he cried

Her hands were shaking as she looked around. Vyreo was gone, but his jeweled cane and the glowing ruby remained. She clasped the ruby necklace around her neck, picking up the cane with a small smile. Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell rushed into the clearing, a frenzied look in his gray eyes. "Emmelyne," he breathed out.

She hurried to him, throwing her arms around his waist, laughing. "Gods, child, where have you been?" Ned demanded.

"Here, Father. There was a man- - a man named Vyreo. He was kind to me, Father. He- - he told me that I am a meant to be a messenger for… R'hllor? I think that's what he said, at least. I don't know where he's gone… but, Father, he looked like Maester Luwin!" she cried.

"Maester Luwin? Emmelyne, what happened? You've been gone for three days. I feared- -I feared that the cold had gotten you."

She shook her head furiously, black hair shimmering with icy crystals. "No, Father! I was warm. Very warm!"

Ned didn't know what to say. "Let's get you back to the castle," he stated simply.

She nodded, smiling.


	2. Chapter One: Foretelling

Fifteen-year-old Emmelyne Stark was quiet as she sat in her chambers. She wore a long red gown, and at her throat she wore a leather necklace, set with a gorgeous ruby. Her black hair was tied in an intricate knot, though wisps danced about her face in the steady wind. Her hair, despite it's dark color, glowed silver in the light, and had done so since her three days in the forest with a strange man she had called Vyreo. In her hands she held a jeweled cane, which glittered in the vague moonlight filtering through her window. She smoothed her fingers along the polished bone that peeked out between the gemstones. Her gray eyes glowed in the light of the fire burning in her brazier. The flames leaped ever higher, and she could have sworn she saw the shadows she'd once witnessed, five long years ago. She let herself succumb to sleep, despite the gnawing feeling of dread that began to eat away at her.  
 _In her dreams, there was a man_. _But this man was sad, and frightened. In place of a his human head, there was the head of a direwolf, snarling and growling. "Em! Please, Em!" a familiar voice cried._

 _And then a girl, angry and wild, a black pit in place of her face. "Emmelyne!" the girl pleaded._

 _A boy, riddled with arrows. "Em!"_

 _And a young man, reborn in fire, covered in scars. "Emmelyne, please!"_

 _A girl, crying. "Emmelyne, help me!"_

 _And then a young boy, flying. He said nothing._

 _There was a woman, her throat slit and blood pouring down her body._

 _And a man with no head._

 _The figures horrified her, but there was a familiarity about them. They began to distort, their bodies morphing and shifting, combining into the tall form of a woman. Blond and beautiful, but cold and wicked all the same. "You will never win," her stern voice stated._

 _Alongside the woman sprouted the forms of three children, as blond as her, but only one held her cold expression. As quickly as they came the three children seemed to be smashed to dust, fading into the blackness. But the blond woman remained. "Stupid child. Everyone knows… when you play the game of thrones, you win… or you die."_

 _Then, a direwolf, brilliant red with glowing eyes charged the woman, shredding her to pieces. It looked at Emmelyne, waiting for a command. Dragons rose from the shadows, breathing fire as they flapped their massive wings. And a woman with white hair…_

Emmelyne awoke in a cold sweat. Her fingertips were white, clenched tightly around the jeweled cane. Her ruby necklace had come undone, and now lied on the bed, still faintly glowing. "Seven Hells," Emmelyne murmured.

She couldn't think of anything else to say, try as she might. She did not worship the Seven or the Old Gods that her parents did, but now it seemed a proper time for the statement. She wanted so badly to return to the strange dream world, but she knew that R'hllor would only grant her one peek into the future. Yes, the future.

Emmelyne gazed into the fire, which had slowly begun to die down. When she'd become a Red Priestess, the first thing she had done was burned the old dolls of the Seven that her mother had had made for her. A week later, she had become very sick and nearly died. Her mother kept saying that it was because she had burned the dolls, but Emmelyne fought her tooth-and-nail, ardently saying that it was simply part of the process.

Emmelyne let her grip loosen on the cane, and it fell to the floor with a clatter. She bit down hard on her lip, tasting blood. Shaking ever so slightly, she rose from her bed. As she did this, a tapping sounded at the door. Emmelyne went stiff. "Who is it?" her cool voice hissed.

"Your father," Ned's calm voice responded.

She looked to her mirror, trying to make sure she looked presentable. But the face peering at her from the mirror was not her own. It was the face of a beautiful woman, like Emmelyne's but wrong all the same. As quickly as it had come, the face vanished, and now only Emmelyne remained. She let a low gasp escape her before she turned to the door of her chambers. "You may enter," she said.

The door swung open, and the tall, imposing form of her father appeared in the doorway. Emmelyne looked like her father, with the same gray eyes that could bring most men to terror. Ned strongly believed that the girl was simply the reincarnation of his younger sister, Lyanna.

Ned glanced around the room, those cold gray eyes landing on the fire, now burning brightly in the brazier. "Why have you come here?" Emmelyne questioned, bringing him swimming back to reality.

"The king is coming to Winterfell. He's bringing the entire royal family, along with the Lannisters."

Emmelyne thought about the cold blond woman from her dream. "Lannister... dark days come when the Lannisters come this far north. There must be a reason for this... visit," she stated.

Ned sighed, annoyed by, though still used to, his daughter's strange riddles. "Jon Arryn... you remember him, don't you?" He tried to shift the subject.

"Yes, I remember him. Kind, but foolish. I suppose wicked things have come to him," Emmelyne said, a strange smirk playing at her lips. "What fate has befallen the kind fool?"

Ned winced at her cold words. "A fever took him. His family, your aunt and cousin, still have their health, gods be good."

She chuckled, but there was no humor in the sound. "There is only one god, Father. And you know his name as well as I do."

Ned nodded stiffly. "Aye, I know the false god you speak of."

He was talking like Catelyn now. The woman hated Emmelyne's religion and everything that came with it. Ned loved his daughter, and the gods knew it well. But he'd woken in the night often to Catelyn praying, pleading with her new gods to 'save' Emmelyne any way they knew how. And Ned knew all too well that one of these ways was death. Ned was sure she'd never admit it, but Catelyn hated Emmelyne almost as much as she hated his bastard, Jon.

"R'hllor would kill you where you stand for speaking of him that way, dear father. He is no false god, simply a misunderstood one. I pray to him that one day you'll learn to worship him the same as me," Emmelyne pointed out.

Ned wanted to argue, but he knew it would lead nowhere. Nothing could ever change Emmelyne's poisoned mind. Perhaps the old man, Vryeo, could have persuaded her, but he was dead. Emmelyne was sure of that, and her word always seemed to be the truth. Instead, Ned just said, "Put out that fire. You're going to burn the castle down."

It was a feeble attempt at a joke; Winterfell was built almost completely out of stone. Emmelyne smiled her false smile, her fingers moving to graze the ruby at her throat. "Fire won't harm us... I won't allow it."

Neither father nor daughter spoke for a moment. Then Emmelyne chuckled. "Well, you best start your preparations for the king's arrival."

Ned nodded. "Yes, I suppose."

He turned on his heel, leaving her room in silence. Almost as soon as he left, the door opened again, but this time it was Emmelyne's elder brother, Robb. He was grinning, and something wriggled around beneath his fur cloak. "What have you found?" Emmelyne questioned, taking a step forward.

"Direwolf pups! Seven of them. I thought... perhaps you might like this one," he said, pulling his furs aside.

The pup leaped free of his grip, hitting the ground with a hard thud. This didn't deter the small beast, who began to sniff around Emmelyne's chambers. The pup was strange, with fur the same color as the ruby around Emmelyne's neck. It's eyes were a brilliant blue, glowing in the moonlight. Emmelyne froze. It was the same direwolf from her dream. It yipped softly, stumbling over it's own paws. Robb still smiled, looking up at Emmelyne hopefully, trying to unearth a true emotion from her. Robb, with his red-brown hair and blue eyes, had their mother's Tully appearance. If it hadn't been for the stern face they had both inherited from their father, no one would have ever assumed Robb and Emmelyne were siblings. "So, Em," Robb said, his smile never failing. "What will you name him?"

Emmelyne didn't know. Only one name came to mind, but she knew her mother would never approve. "R'hllor," she said firmly.

Robb sighed, but he nodded. "R'hllor. I suppose that's as good a name as any."

Emmelyne offered a smile, a true one now. Robb almost remembered the young girl he'd once run with in the godswood, playing at being kings and queens. But that had all changed, and now the two barely knew each other. Robb was unsure of who this girl was standing before him. It was not his sister. It was a demon with the face of a girl he once would have killed for. A girl he would have done anything to protect. Now, she was little more than a stranger. She was cold and wicked. Robb never would tell a soul, but he feared her and her dreams of the future.

Emmelyne's smile faded. She looked at Robb with a sad expression. The ghost of his sister stared at him, almost pleading with him to be saved. He wanted to save her, but she was too far gone. There was no savior for those who worshipped R'hllor.

There was a silence between the siblings, and finally Robb gave an attempt at a smile. "It's dark, you need your rest," he said, turning away from the demon that wore his sister's face.

Emmelyne laughed. "The night is dark and full of terrors, dear brother."


	3. Chapter Two: Family Strains

Emmelyne was quiet as she stood in a line alongside her siblings. Sansa, her younger sister, stood to her left, while Robb stood to her right. The line of Starks was youngest to eldest, with the exception of Rickon, who stood beside Catelyn. Jon, Ned's bastard son, stood behind the true-born children, alongside Theon Greyjoy, Ned's ward, and Maester Luwin. Everyone who needed to be there was, except for one Stark girl. "Where's Arya? Sansa, Emmelyne, where's your sister?" Catelyn questioned.

Sansa shrugged, not paying any attention to her mother. Emmelyne offered Catelyn a smile. "The little wolf cannot be tamed," she chuckled.

Catelyn took a moment to examine her eldest daughter's clothes. She was dressed in a long red gown, cinched at the waist. The top was low cut, and left little to the imagination. The dress could have been lovely, had it not been for the red coloring. The dress still _was_ lovely, but Catelyn refused to admit that. But even then she could see Jory Cassel, smiling a bit as he looked Emmelyne over. Gods, she could even see the half-wit Hodor staring at the girl. There was no denying it, Emmelyne was beautiful. Catelyn wished and prayed that Emmelyne could be a proper lady and marry a high lord, or a prince. But Red Priestesses did not marry. They traveled the world, spreading their religion like an infectious disease. Catelyn had studied the religion, and she knew too well that this 'Lord of Light' wished his followers would do horrible things. R'hllor burned his enemies and his followers alike. No one was safe from the flames. Despite the hatred Catelyn held in her heart for her eldest daughter, she did not wish the brutal death upon the girl.

Suddenly, Arya came running. Her hair remained in it's tight braids, but her face was nearly covered by the metal helm she wore on her head.

She giggled as she started to move to her place in the line. Ned stopped her quickly, laughing as he took the helm from her. "Hey, hey, hey, hey. What are you doing with that on? Go on," he encouraged her, giving her a nudge to get her moving.

He chuckled as he handed the helm over to Rodrik Cassel, Winterfell's master at arms. Rodrik was the uncle of Jory, and he often reminded Catelyn that Jory was welcome to a marriage with Emmelyne. Of course, many were welcome to a marriage with the girl. They just didn't want the religion that came with her, following her like a loyal dog. Arya groaned as she moved to her spot. "Move!" she stated as she pushed Bran aside.  
Emmelyne, Robb, and Jon smiled, trying to ease the girl's annoyance.  
Emmelyne's siblings, with the exception of Arya and Robb, had inherited kind Tully faces. Arya, wild as she was, looked her part well. She had the dark hair of a Stark, though her hazel eyes were a fair mixture of Tully blue and Stark gray. Rickon, the youngest boy, had a curious mop of light brown hair paired well with blue-green eyes. Bran had dark hair and dark eyes that were nearly black. Sansa was the pride and joy, the picture of a perfect Tully with her bright red hair and gorgeous blue eyes. And then there was Jon. Not a true Stark, but blessed wholeheartedly with the looks of one. Dark curled hair and deep-set, almost black, eyes. Despite Jon's bastard status, Emmelyne considered him to be a true sibling, and not just a half-brother.  
The people of Winterfell watched anxiously as men rode in on their stallions, armor brown and colorless against the dull gray of the sky. They carried Lannister banners, the brilliant golden lion on a red field. Leading the Lannister banner men were two men with Baratheon banners, the crowned black stag on yellow backdrop. Behind the men rode in the prince, Joffrey Baratheon. A perfect Lannister, his arrogant face complemented well by blond hair and emerald green eyes. He seemed bored, though his expression softened as his green eyes fell upon Sansa and Emmelyne. While Sansa smiled, Emmelyne shifted on her feet, trying to hide her discomfort at his lingering stare. Robb found her hand, squeezing it reassuringly. The touch was welcome, and Emmelyne managed a smile in her elder brother's direction. Riding in at Joffrey's back was the boy's sworn sword, Sandor Clegane, the Hound, his burned face hidden beneath a helm the shape of dog's snarling head. Following them closely was a carriage containing the queen and her younger children, Myrcella and Tommen. The Hound lifted his helm, and Emmelyne was quiet as she took in his face. He was tanned, with light brown hair and heavy lidded dark brown eyes. Had it not been for the scars that marred half of his face, he could almost have been handsome.  
Finally, the king rode in on his black stallion. Emmelyne stared at him curiously. He had long black hair that hung to his shoulders. His beard was long and graying. A pair of small brown eyes were shadowed by his golden crown. As he rode, everyone lowered, kneeling before him. King Robert dismounted his horse, though he needed a stool to do so, then stepped up to Ned. He wiggled his fingers, allowing everyone to rise. Emmelyne's eyes widened. He was an ox of a man, more fat than muscle, with a pink face. "Your Grace," Ned said.  
He looked Ned over disapprovingly. "You've got fat," he stated.  
Emmelyne wondered how this king could ever call her father fat, when his clothes were bursting at the seams. Ned's gaze flickered to King Robert's bulging stomach, and she quickly realized it had been meant as a joke as the two men laughed, embracing. Robert released Ned, grinning. "Cat!" he laughed as he threw his arms around Catelyn.  
"Your Grace," she responded with a smile, and Emmelyne noticed that she did not return his embrace.  
King Robert ruffled Rickon's hair before he turned back to Ned. "Nine years- - why haven't I seen you? where the hell have you been?" he chuckled.  
"Guarding the North for you, Your Grace. Winterfell is yours," Ned responded with a kind smile.  
Emmelyne's eyes drifted to Queen Cersei, who was just then climbing from her carriage, followed by Myrcella and Tommen. There was something familiar about the queen's face, something about the way her green eyes looked at everything, landing on nothing. She wore a red dress with a gold cloak, the Lannister colors. "Where's the Imp?" Arya spoke up, and Emmelyne wondered as well where the Queen's youngest brother was.  
"Will you shut up?" Sansa snapped at her younger sister.  
"Who have we here? You must be Robb," Robert said as he moved on to the rest of the Stark children.  
Robb nodded stiffly, shaking the King's hand. Robert moved on to Emmelyne, and the second his small eyes fell upon her, he froze. "Who might you be?" he questioned.  
Emmelyne offered a smile. "Emmelyne Stark, your grace. My father has been long awaiting your arrival," she said.  
It was a simple lie, but she knew that it pleased Robert greatly. She noticed Queen Cersei, eyeing her with an evil glare. "You look just like your aunt," Robert whispered, taking her hand in his own.  
She nodded. "So I've been told. I do hope you enjoy your visit, though I am very sorry to hear about what has happened to Jon Arryn. My father always told me that you were close with him."  
Robert didn't speak for a moment. "Yes," he finally said.  
He seemed to shake himself from his daze, moving on to Sansa. "My, you're a pretty one," he noted.  
Arya now. He lowered to her height, smiling. "Your name is?" he questioned kindly.  
Arya looked at the ground, then back up at him. "Arya," she said stiffly.  
He nodded, then finally moved on to Bran. "Oh, show us your muscles," he instructed.  
Bran did as told, flexing his arm with a grin. Robert laughed. "You'll be a soldier."  
Emmelyne's eyes darted to a man who's horse stood near the carriage. He took off his helmet, shaking his golden blond hair out. "That's Jaime Lannister, the queen's twin brother," Arya noted.  
"Would you please shut up?" Sansa urged.  
Jaime was handsome, with green eyes and a proud face. The coldness that consumed Cersei didn't seem to affect Jaime, who was smiling as he looked around at the Winterfell courtyard. Queen Cersei made her way to Ned, holding out a hand. He lowered, kissing the back of it. "My queen," he said.  
"My queen," Catelyn smiled, curtsying.  
Cersei's gaze landed on Emmelyne, who bowed her head respectfully. "Queen Cersei," she acknowledged.  
Robert spoke up now. "Take me to your crypt. I want to pay my respects," he stated.  
Cersei looked at him. "We've been riding for a month, my love. Surely the dead can wait," she said.  
Her husband looked at Emmelyne for a moment, ignoring his wife's words. "Ned," he stated, starting to walk off.  
Ned gave Cersei an apologetic shrug, hurrying after Robert.  
Arya, still curious as ever, questioned, "Where's the Imp?"  
Cersei turned around, moving to her twin brother's side. "Where is our brother? Go and find the little beast," she instructed.  
Emmelyne raised a hand, clenching her ruby tightly in her fist.


	4. Chapter Three: A Feast for Fire

Emmelyne was quiet as she dressed for the feast. Her mother had requested, well, pleaded with her to wear something that wasn't red. Emmelyne didn't want to fight, and she'd finally agreed. But that wouldn't stop her from wearing a pink dress, the closest she could get to red. She sighed a little looking at the ruby necklace in her hands. She knew her mother wouldn't like it if she wore the necklace for the feast. But, her mother didn't like much about her anyway. Emmelyne hesitated, then laid the necklace on her bedside table. She made sure her hair was neat, then looked at the door. "Time to go," she murmured to herself.  
It didn't take her long to get to the great hall. Already it was filled with people, laughing and talking. She tried not to make a sound as she took a flagon of wine from a passing servant. The boy looked at her, but her stern glare seemed to catch him off guard. He attempted a smile, rushing off in the other direction. Emmelyne almost laughed. She had grown used to the servants fearing her. They'd been fearing her since she turned twelve and began to practice her religion more freely than Catelyn would ever allow. She leaned against a column, taking a long drink of wine. "Fuck me," she murmured.  
She hadn't cursed like that in a long time, but now it felt the right time. The crowds made her nervous. Too many people could cause problems. As she said this, she felt a hand on her shoulder. "Maybe later," a voice said.  
She turned on her heel, eyes widening as she came face-to-face with Theon Greyjoy. His breath smelled of wine, and he was clearly drunk. "What do you want, Greyjoy?" she stated, pulling free of his grip.  
"A night with you, Emmelyne. I think that's obvious. I want to see what you have under that pretty dress of yours," he chuckled, teetering unsteadily on his feet.  
Emmelyne halfway smiled as she looked Theon over. His brown hair was a tousled mess, and his blue-green eyes were rimmed red from lack of sleep. "Tell me, Theon, do women or wine ease your troubles more?" she questioned.  
His eyebrows knitted together with confusion. "What do you mean?" he demanded.  
She chuckled, a low sound that made Theon shift uncomfortably. "You are the only living son and heir of Balon Greyjoy, yet you can do nothing about it. You were taken as a ward to my father when you were only eight. So, Theon. You spend your nights drowning your sorrows with whores and wine. Which one helps more?" she pressed.  
He didn't know how to answer, so she decided to ask another question. "How long have been in love with that whore, Ros? I think that's her name, at least."  
"How do you know that?" Theon questioned.  
"The Lord of Light knows all. I am simply his messenger."  
"You're a witch, that's what you are. There's a reason they call you a demon."  
Theon turned quickly, nearly tripping over himself as he hurried back to his seat. Emmelyne looked around the great hall. People danced and laughed, and King Robert held a woman from the kitchens in his arms, dancing around with her. Emmelyne took another long drink from the flagon before she joined the crowd. She smoothed the skirt of her dress, plastering a smile on her face as she started to navigate her way toward a table. All around her people froze, watching her wearily. She managed to find a table with few people sat there. A group of kitchen servants were sat at the end, and they all stared nervously as she took a seat, drinking again from the flagon. "Emmelyne," one greeted hesitantly.  
Emmelyne nodded her head in return. She watched the king kiss the kitchen woman. As he turned away, his gaze locked on her. She felt a flood of emotions, a deep sadness she had never experienced before.  
 _There was a man, white haired and beautiful. He was dressed in armor, decorated with rubies in the shape of the Targaryen house sigil, a three headed dragon. Another man stood across from him, almost the polar opposite of the white haired. This man had dark hair and dark eyes, and somehow Emmelyne knew that this was Robert. With every swing of the white haired man's sword, Robert grew more and more angry. In his hands he held a warhammer, already covered in blood. The white haired man didn't speak as he backed into a river, eyeing Robert wearily. "You took her from me, you Targaryen bastard," Robert hissed.  
He lunged, swinging the warhammer in a dangerous arc. It collided with the white haired man's chest, sending his sprawling into the river. The rubies freed themselves from his armor, scattering about the water. Robert stepped back, examing his handiwork. "Rhaegar Targaryen... is dead," he muttered._  
Emmelyne blinked wildly, letting out a soft gasp. "What in the hells was that?" she murmured.  
She was used to visions in her sleep, but she'd never had one while awake. Robert had begun to make his way toward Emmelyne. Panic began to overwhelm her as a surge of something... a mixture of anger and sadness washed over her. It felt like she were a different person, someone who had known Robert long before this day. He smiled a bit as he sat beside her at the table, his breath smelling of ale and his face even redder than before. "You look better in pink," he said.  
Emmelyne chewed her lip. "Pardon me?"  
"You look better in pink than you do in red. You're a red priestess, your father told me that. But I like pink better on you."  
"Oh. Well, thank you, King Robert."  
He smiled. "Lyanna never wore pink, at least when I saw her. Always blue or green. Your father told me she didn't like dresses, always wore leathers. You look just like her."  
"Yes, Father tells me often."  
"Do you know what happened to her?"  
"It is well known what happened."  
Robert scoffed. "She was stolen from me. Taken by that... Targaryen shit. She was beautiful. I'm the one who killed him, did you know that?"  
Emmelyne nodded. "Yes."  
"You're like her, not just the way you look. She was strong."  
"I am not my aunt, King Robert."  
"I know. But you're as close as I can get to having her back."  
Emmelyne regretted her words the moment they left her lips. "She was never yours to begin with."  
Anger flashed on King Robert's face. "You don't know what you're talking about, girl," he hissed.  
"The Lord of Light knows all. I am his messenger, therefore I know things," Emmelyne responded, trying to keep her voice steady.  
Robert stood up from his seat, his fingers clenched in tight fists. Emmelyne managed to keep herself sitting stiffly, staring at him with her gray eyes. She halfway smiled. "Are you going to hurt me, Robert?" she questioned, surprising him greatly with her boldness as to not use his title.  
He didn't speak as he turned and walked away from the table, muttering curses under his breath. Emmelyne turned back to her wine, taking another drink. As she did so, footsteps sounded behind her. Thinking that King Robert had come back to punish her, Emmelyne went stiff in her seat, contemplating sticking her foot out to trip the oaf of a man. But she was pleasantly surprised when the small form of Tyrion Lannister moved to her side. He looked her over with a careful expression, then smiled. "I do hope that Robert wasn't bothering you," he said.  
She chuckled. "It was I that bothered him, I think."  
He nodded, sitting down on the bench. His eyes lingered on the flagon of wine. "May I?" he questioned.  
"Do as you please, Imp," Emmelyne said simply, pushing the flagon in his direction.  
She held no malice calling him that name, it was simply how most of the people Westeros referred to him. They might not have said it kindly, but somehow Tyrion knew that she had meant well. He took a drink from the flagon, looking her over one more time. "You're Emmelyne Stark," he said.  
"Yes," she nodded.  
"We should play a game, Demon."  
It was a jest now, and Emmelyne smiled. "What kind of game?"  
"A drinking game. I think you'll enjoy it."  
"How do you play this game, Imp?"  
"It's simple. I try to guess something about you, and if I'm right you drink. If I'm wrong, I drink. The same goes for you."  
She rolled her gray eyes. "What is the point of this game?"  
"I simply wish to get to know you, Demon."  
"I'll play your game, Imp. You go first, then."  
He thought for a moment. "You're a Red Priestess."  
She laughed, taking a drink from the flagon. "That was an easy one. My turn now. Your family doesn't care for you very much."  
He drank. "Lannisters are a proud family, and I am not something to be proud of. My turn. People fear you."  
Another drink. "Many fear R'hllor. You were once married to a girl named Tysha."  
Tyrion started to pick up the flagon, then froze. He tightened his grip, knuckles turning white. "How did you know that?"  
Emmelyne halfway smiled. "R'hllor knows all, Imp. I can tell you things you would never want to remember. If you wished, I could tell you the entire story right now."  
He took a slow drink from the flagon, nodding. "Tell me the story, then."  
"When you were sixteen years old you and your brother Jaime encountered a girl who had almost been raped and was running away from her attackers. While Jaime chased the men off, you comforted the girl, who you learned was named Tysha. You two became lovers and were married by a drunken septon. Until your father found out. Jaime admitted that the girl had been a whore he'd hired to try and give you more confidence, and he hadn't expected you to marry her. Your father was enraged that you had married a commoner, and he had each of his men pay her a silver coin before they fucked her. You'd never tell anyone, but you participated as well, but you paid a golden coin. Lannisters are worth more. Now, Imp, do you see what things R'hllor can tell me?"  
Tyrion nodded gravely, finishing off the flagon of wine. "You're an interesting girl, Emmelyne Stark. I hope I'll be seeing more of you."  
He rose from the table, carrying the flagon with him as he walked off


	5. Chapter Four: The Imp and the Demon

As the feast began to come to a close, Emmelyne found herself growing tired as well as drunk. With a foggy mind she found herself stumbling her way through the halls to her room, where R'hllor lie waiting by the door. The pup yapped softly, getting to his feet. Emmelyne smiled, lowering and patting him softly. "Good boy," she murmured.  
She made her way to the bed, sighing as she sat down. The night had been long and went downhill quickly after Robert-but Tyrion had made it better. It was fun playing games with the Imp, astounding him with personal information she should not know.  
Emmelyne looked to her bed side table, instinctively reaching toward her shining ruby necklace.  
But it was not there.  
Emmelyne's hand flew to her neck in a half-panicked, half-angry manner. The necklace wasn't around her neck. She stood up, spooking R'hllor in progress. The direwolf pup yipped once then raced away, tripping over the shoe he was running with.  
Emmelyne flung open her door. She knew exactly what had happened, and she was prepared to do anything. She made her way to her parent's room, flinging open the door to see her mother standing there, looking both stern and worried.  
"Emmelyne-" Catelyn tried.  
"Where is it?" Emmelyne demanded. "What have you done with it? Tell me!"  
Her mother's nostrils flared. "I don't appreciate that tone," she said coolly.  
"I don't appreciate you breaking into my room, stealing my things!" Emmelyne cried. "Where is it? It's my property!"  
Catelyn didn't speak. She gazed at Emmelyne sadly. "Mother, tell me where the hell you put my necklace," Emmelyne stated.  
"What are you going to do?" Catelyn demanded.  
Emmelyne was shaking with anger now. "Tell me!" she snapped.  
"It's for the best," Catelyn urged.  
"It was Vyreo's! It belonged to him and now it belongs to me... mother, tell me where it is," Emmelyne said.  
She had surpassed anger. Now, she was enraged. She was willing to do anything to get the necklace back. Catelyn shook her head furiously. "Em, I..." she didn't finish her sentence.  
It was only now that both woman seemed to realize that Ned was still standing there, his eyes wide as he stared at them. "Father," Emmelyne began. "Do you know what mother has done with my necklace?"  
He looked at Catelyn sadly, then gave a pointed look toward the bedside table, where glittering red bits lay scattered about. Emmelyne rounded on her mother. "You didn't," her firm voice hissed.  
"I did. There's cruel magic in that damn ruby. I took care of it. I protected you."  
Emmelyne raced to the table, tears welling in her eyes. "R'hllor... I beg of you... this was not my doing. I pray... I pray upon you to grant me one kindness... I pray upon you to fix this," she said through her tears.  
Everyone in the room, including Emmelyne, stared in awe as the bits of ruby began to shake and shiver. There was a slight glow as they fused back together, forming the whole ruby once more. Emmelyne spun to face Catelyn. "There is a magic you do not understand at power right now. You will never, _ever_ take something that belongs to me again. Do you understand?" she hissed.  
Catelyn was holding back tears. She was still shaking her head, barely stringing sentences together. "I- - I was- - I just trying to help you. I- - I fear what- - what this religion is doing to you. Emmelyne, I beg you, please just... get rid of the ruby," she whispered.  
Emmelyne took a step forward, eyes red with pure rage. "Answer the damn question," she snapped.  
Ned spoke up now. "Don't talk to her like that."  
Emmelyne shook her head. "I'll talk to her however I like. She hates me, I already know that. You know that, too, Father."  
Catelyn broke down sobbing as Emmelyne re-clasped the necklace around her neck, turning and leaving the room in silence. The minute she reached the hallway, however, tears began to fall down her face. She didn't know what else to do. She managed to get a ways down the hallway before she succumbed to her tears. Her back hit the stone wall and she slid down, pulling her legs to her chest as sobs racked her small frame. A voice sounded nearby. "Are you alright?"  
For a moment it sounded like Vyreo, but when Emmelyne looked up she was only greeted with Tyrion. "I'm alright," she murmured.  
The small man's green eyes darted up and down her. "You're crying."  
"I'm alright," she repeated firmly.  
He sighed, moving to her side. "I want to help you," he offered.  
She glared at him simply. "Why are you down this hallway, anyway? Your room is on the other side of the castle," she said.  
"Is it really? I must have gotten turned around. It's a rather large castle."  
She didn't know if he was joking or not, so she just nodded. "Why do you want to help me? Haven't I scared you away with the stories of your past?" she questioned.  
"It's not easy to scare me. No, your story made me want to speak to you even more. Now I have a chance."  
"I don't need your false kindness, Imp."  
He chuckled, taking her shoulder gently. "It's not false kindness, Demon."  
She sighed a bit, wiping the tears away from her face. "Well, if you'll be kind to me... I suppose I'll be kind to you."  
"I'd quite like that."  
For a moment neither of them knew what to say. Finally, Tyrion broke the silence. "You're a very interesting girl, Emmelyne."  
She smiled. "You're interesting as well."  
His grip on her shoulder tightened a bit. "I think, with a bit more time, we could become friends. Do you like the sound of that?"  
"Yes."  
He smiled as well, letting go of her shoulder. "It's late. We should both be heading to bed. I expect I'll be seeing you in the morning," he said.  
There was a brief pause as he leaned close, kissing her cheek quickly. "Goodnight, Emmelyne."  
She felt her face grow warm. "Call me Em," she murmured.  
He chuckled softly. "Goodnight, Em," he said.  
She stood now, laughing. "Goodnight, Tyrion."  
They shared one last smile before Tyrion turned and started making his way down the other hallway. Emmelyne wiped her tears once more before making her way back to her room in silence. Normally, she appreciated the silence, but now it felt strange. The silence overwhelmed her, and as she walked it felt as though she were being watched.  
And indeed she was.  
From the door of her bedroom, Sansa Stark watched Emmelyne make her way down the hallway. Unbeknownst to both Tyrion and Emmelyne, she'd heard everything. She smiled a little as she noted Emmelyne's red face. "She's blushing," she murmured to herself.  
Laughing, Sansa turned to her direwolf pup, Lady. "I think Emmelyne's fond of Tyrion Lannister," she chuckled.  
Emmelyne returned to her room, a smile on her face as she sat on her bed. R'hllor, who had been napping in the corner, jumped up and hurried toward her, leaping into her lap. She didn't bother to change into a night dress as held the pup in her arms, curling up in a ball. It didn't take long for her to settle into a deep sleep.


	6. Chapter Five: Brother of Mine

The days went by in slow succession. The king and the Lannisters would soon be returning to King's Landing, and Ned, Emmelyne, Sansa, and Arya would be joining them. Ned was to take Jon Arryn's old position as Hand of the King. Sansa was going purely for the reason that she was now betrothed to prince Joffrey. In truth, the only reason Arya was going, was because Ned thought she might become more ladylike. Emmelyne, well, Emmelyne was going because she wanted to speak with Tyrion more.  
It was early morning. Emmelyne was still asleep, however. That was how she spent her days, now. Sleeping. Hoping to even glimpse the future.  
 _Bran was climbing. Surefooted as he was, Emmelyne couldn't shake the feeling that he was going to fall. Below him, his unnamed direwolf pup yipped and barked anxiously. Bran reached the top of the broken tower, and a woman's voice echoed around Emmelyne. "He saw us!"  
But Emmelyne didn't feel like herself. She looked at the ground, sniffing at the dirt. She wasn't herself. "He saw us!" the woman repeated.  
"I heard you the first time," a man's voice replied.  
There was someone holding Bran in the window. Emmelyne saw blond hair. "How old are you, boy?" the man asked.  
"Ten," Bran responded.  
Everything started to blur. The voices began to distort. The man, however, rang clear. "The things I do for love."  
Bran was falling. Had he tripped? No, no. Bran never fell. He never fell. Emmelyne whimpered, running forward, tripping over her paws. She began to yap incessantly. The unnamed direwolf pup joined her. She had to shout, she had to say something. He hit the ground, legs bent... mangled._  
"No!" Emmelyne awoke with a jolt, shaking madly, tears falling down her face.  
She looked around the room. R'hllor was not there. "Bran," she whispered.  
She stumbled from the bed, nearly tripping over her blankets as she hurried from the room. As she ran through the halls, she only thought one thing. _Bran never falls._  
The moment she reached the yard, the first thing she saw was R'hllor. He stood beside Bran's direwolf, and both pups sniffed at Bran's twisted form. A strangled sob escaped her as she collapsed at her brother's side. "Bran... Bran, please. Wake up," she sobbed, pulling him into her arms.  
The direwolf pups began to howl mournfully, the low sound echoing throughout the yard. "Someone help!" Emmelyne screamed.  
She pressed a hand to his chest, and a slow heartbeat faltered along. "R'hllor... I beg you, for the second time... I pray that you let my brother live," she murmured.  
She began to repeat this, like a mantra. People began to run into the yard, and the unmistakable voice of Catelyn shouted, "No!"  
Emmelyne stumbled to her feet, weak with the weight of the young boy in her arms. "He- - he fell," she managed to lie through her tears.  
Catelyn's eyes widened in horror as she took in her son's appearance. "His... legs," she gasped.  
It was only now that Emmelyne looked at Bran's legs. They were bent at odd angles, bone jutting beneath skin, pants torn and covered with blood. His spine had surely been injured as well, for he felt strangely twisted in her arms, though she was sure she was holding him straight. She knew all too well that if he survived, he would not walk again. "Please, no," she pleaded, though she didn't know who she was speaking to.  
A few people hurried off, saying something about Maester Luwin. Catelyn stared at her eldest daughter. "What did you do to him?" she questioned through her tears.  
Emmelyne shook her head. "No... Mother, I- - I didn't do anything. I found- - found him like this."  
Catelyn wasn't sure what to believe. Emmelyne didn't hold any love in her heart for her siblings, in fact she barely spoke to them. But how could she accuse of her something so horrible? She knew Emmelyne would never hurt one of her siblings, even if they weren't close. Emmelyne took a few steps forward, staring at Catelyn. "We need to get him to Maester Luwin," was all Catelyn said as she moved to Emmelyne's side, helping her support Bran's weight.  
The two women were silent as they carried Bran toward his chambers.  
Days passed with no sign of Bran waking. Catelyn spent every waking hour with the boy, waiting for even one sign that he would live. Emmelyne fell into a routine of suffering through breakfasts with the Lannisters, joking and talking with Tyrion, who, despite Cersei's disapproval, was learning more and more about Red Priests and Priestesses.  
Emmelyne, the only true-born Stark who truly cared for the bastard, was the first Jon told about his plans to join the Night's Watch with their uncle, Benjen. She supported the plan wholeheartedly, though she found herself praying nightly for his safety. In the days leading up to the king and everyone else's leaving, Ned, Sansa, Arya, and Emmelyne found themselves consumed with packing and preparations for King's Landing, coupled with rushed and awkward goodbyes. Catelyn refused to allow both Emmelyne and Jon anywhere near Bran's chambers, and the two often found themselves waiting outside the door for even one moment with Catelyn gone. The Starks were cursed with conflicting emotions. Bran would live. But he would never walk again. Emmelyne prayed nightly for him as well.  
Rickon spent every moment he could with Emmelyne, clinging to her skirts and begging her to stay with him at Winterfell.  
Sansa seemed to be the only one truly excited about their travels. She spent her days preening for Joffrey, her efforts always in vain. Joffrey seemed only to have eyes for Emmelyne, who he had become quite fond of. Emmelyne found herself growing tired of spoiled boy staring at her, and she managed to redirect his attention to Sansa, who seemed pleased with the new development.  
The day before they were to leave, Emmelyne found herself finishing off her packing in her chambers. Septa Mordane, who would also be traveling to King's Landing, had instructed her to make sure she had everything she needed. R'hllor had grown quite big. He lied at her feet, watching her lazily with his piercing blue eyes. A knock sounded at her door. Welcome to a distraction, Emmelyne dropped the dress she was holding with a grin. "Please, come in," she said.  
The door opened to reveal Jon, who was smiling vaguely as well. "Come to say goodbye again?" she questioned with a slight chuckle.  
"I've brought you a gift," he responded.  
"Aren't I a bit old for gifts?"  
He rolled his eyes, holding out a wooden box. "Humor me. Take the damn thing, before I keep it for myself."  
She rolled her eyes in response, taking the box. "I got it made special for you," he said as she opened her gift.  
Inside was a necklace. It was in the shape of collar, much like her leather one. It was ornately decorated with hammered metal direwolves, seven to be precise. Among them was the hammered shape of the Lannister lion. "I- - I know you've become friends with Tyrion Lannister," Jon explained.  
The designs surrounded a large rectangle of bare metal, and Emmelyne smiled as she realized what to do with it. "It's for my ruby," she murmured.  
"I thought you'd like it. You do- - you do like it, don't you?" he questioned.  
She laughed, unclasping the leather collar around her neck. She freed the ruby from it's place. "I love it," she responded as she pressed the ruby into the rectangle.  
Jon grinned. "Thank the gods. It was much easier to get a present for Arya. All she needed was a sword," he laughed.  
Emmelyne smiled in response, putting the new necklace around her throat. "How do I look?" she questioned.  
"You look perfect," Jon said simply.  
They both hesitated, and then she stepped forward, wrapping her arms around him in a tight embrace. "I'm going to miss you. You'll miss me, won't you?" she said.  
She and Jon had always gotten along the best. They were the outcasts, the ones that no one else appreciated. In truth, Emmelyne was sad to see him go.  
Jon seemed surprised. "I- - I'll miss you, too, Emmelyne. You're my little sister, of course I'll miss you."  
She looked at him, beaming. "I'll pray that you have safe travels."  
"I'll do the same."  
Neither sibling wanted to let go, and so they didn't. The two stood in content silence, safe in each other's warm embrace. "I love you, big brother," Emmelyne murmured.  
"I love you, too, little sister."


	7. Chapter Six: Prince of Shit

Travels to King's Landing went by slowly. Emmelyne and Arya opted to ride horses, while Sansa preferred to spend her time lounging in with the Queen and younger children in their carriage. They had stopped at the Ruby Forge, the battle ground where Robert had slain Rhaegar Targaryen.  
Arya had befriended a young butcher's son named Mycah, and the two had hurried to the river to practice at sword fighting. Emmelyne had followed them, hoping she could perhaps find some of the rubies that had fallen from Rhaegar's armor.  
Arya and Emmelyne's direwolves, Nymeria and R'hllor, had followed. Nymeria, the less obedient of the two, wandered off to explore the bank, while R'hllor sat himself in the shade of a tree, panting in the slight heat. Emmelyne joined him, running her fingers through his thick fur.  
Arya and Mycah, each armed with long sticks, began their fake sword fight. Emmelyne leaned against a rock, letting out a soft breath of relief. Throughout the riding, she'd found herself next to Joffrey, who was still intent on trying to seduce her. She was glad now to be rid of the boy. The only thing that seemed to abate him was Sansa, who had fallen hopelessly in love with him.  
Emmelyne chuckled at Arya, who was dodging Mycah's stick with surprising agility. "You're doing well, Arya," she encouraged.  
Arya answered with a simple cheer. "I'll get you!" Mycah laughed, chasing after the small girl.  
Suddenly, Joffrey stepped into the clearing, Sansa in tow. "Arya!" she cried.  
Arya turned, receiving a sharp whack on the arm from Mycah. "Ow!" she stated.  
She looked back to Sansa. "What are you doing here? Go away," she snapped.  
"Your little sister?" Joffrey questioned Sansa, who nodded stiffly in response.  
Joffrey's gaze flickered to Emmelyne, and he gave an attempt at a wink. She found herself scooting closer to R'hllor. "Stupid little shit," she muttered.  
Luckily enough, Joffrey didn't seem to hear. He took a few steps forward, eying Mycah with an almost hungry stare. "And who are you, boy?" he asked.  
"Mycah, my lord," Mycah replied.  
"He's the butcher's boy," Sansa stated.  
"He's my friend," Arya argued.  
Joffrey chuckled. "A butcher's boy who wants to be a knight, eh? Pick up your sword, butcher's boy. Let's see how good you are," he stated, drawing his sword.  
Emmelyne stiffened, fingers curled in tight fists. "She asked me to, my lord. She asked me to," Mycah said.  
Joffrey stepped up to him, staring the younger boy down. "I'm your prince, not your lord, and I said pick up your sword."  
"It's not a sword, my lord. It's only a stick."  
"And you're not a knight. Only a butcher's boy."  
Joffrey raised his sword, pressing it to Mycah's cheek. "That was my lady's sister you were hitting, do you know that?" he questioned.  
"Stop it!" Arya snapped.  
"Arya, stay out of this," Sansa stated.  
Emmelyne slowly got to her feet. "Leave him alone," she hissed.  
"I won't hurt him, much," Joffrey replied calmly, sliding the blade.  
He drew a thin line of blood, Mycah wincing and whimpering as he did so. Emmelyne started to make her way forward. Arya raised her stick. "Arya!" Sansa screamed.  
Arya slammed the stick hard on Joffrey's shoulder, sending him crumbling to his knees. Mycah leaped back, sprinting off into the woods. "Filthy little bitch!" Joffrey cried, stumbling to his feet, swinging his sword in an arc over Arya's head.  
She ducked, dropping her stick and starting to run for Emmelyne. "No, no, stop it, stop it all of you!" Sansa urged.  
Emmelyne was angry. More angry than she'd ever been before. Joffrey charged at Arya, swinging his sword madly. Arya dodged, stumbling over her skirt and hitting the ground. Joffrey stepped up to her, his sword pointed directly at her throat. "I'll gut you, you little cunt!"  
Emmelyne fell back against the tree, her eyes rolling back into her head so only the whites of them remained. R'hllor charged Joffrey, Nymeria close behind him. Nymeria leaped up, biting down on Joffrey's arm, while R'hllor stayed low. Joffrey gave a horrible scream as R'hllor sank his teeth into the boy's calf. Joffrey hit the ground. R'hllor released quickly, but Nymeria stayed latched onto his arm. Emmelyne's eyes slowly went back to normal, and she began to stumble to her feet, trying to get her bearings.  
"Arya!" Sansa screamed.  
Arya hurried forward, grabbing Nymeria around the neck. "Nymeria!" she urged, trying to pull the direwolf away.  
"Arya!"  
"Nymeria!"  
Arya fell back as she pulled Nymeria away. Emmelyne hurried to her side, picking up Joffrey's sword from the ground. He stared at her, shaking and whimpering in fear. "No. No. Please, don't," he pleaded.  
"Emmelyne, leave him alone," Sansa stated.  
Emmelyne rounded on her, eyes a burning red with pure rage. "You shut the hell up, you little brat. I don't give a damn about you and your little Prince of Shit, but if he ever tries to hurt Arya again, I will cut him into a million pieces one by one. Don't you think I won't."  
Sansa's blue eyes widened, and even Arya seemed shocked. Joffrey gave another whimper. Emmelyne turned again, moving to the side of the river. She exhaled, long and low, trying to calm herself as she threw the sword into the churning water. "Arya, come on," she stated.  
The two girls ran, followed closely by their direwolves.  
Hours passed. Hidden deep in the woods, Arya and Emmelyne leaned against a tree. Arya was close to tears. R'hllor lie at Emmelyne's feet, calm and complacent. Nymeria was pacing, as if she knew something was wrong. Arya slowly moved forward, wrapping her arms around Nymeria's neck. The wolf gave a confused whimper when Arya let her go. "You've got to go. They'll kill you for what you did you did to Joffrey. Go on- - run," she urged her pet.  
Nymeria stayed in place, head cocked as she eyed Arya curiously. Arya looked at Emmelyne. She just shook her head. "Go! Leave now!" Arya urged Nymeria, who seemed to catch on, stepping a few feet away.  
She stopped then, looking at the two girls, expecting them to follow. Emmelyne looked back nervously. The voices of men echoed around them. They were searching for the four companions, no doubt. Arya hesitated, picking up a rock as tears started to fall down her face. She threw it, hitting Nymeria in the leg. "Go!" she stated.  
The direwolf whined, breaking into a sprint deeper into the woods. Arya dissolved into tears, burying her face in Emmelyne's lap. "Shh, shh. It's alright, my little wolf. It'll be alright. I need you to get up now, Arya. I need you to go to those men. Please, listen to me now," Emmelyne whispered.  
Arya lifted her head, her hazel eyes glittering with tears. "I won't leave you," she said.  
Emmelyne smiled sadly. "You have to, Arya."  
"No. Don't make me leave. I won't do it."  
Emmelyne leaned back, sighing. Once more, her eyes rolled back. Arya's did the same, and she slowly got to her feet. Her movements were slow at first, and then she hurried off toward the men. Both girls went back to normal at the same time.  
Emmelyne looked down at R'hllor, who stared at her with his bright blue eyes. He whimpered, confused. "Come, R'hllor. We're going back to the inn," she whispered.  
They both got to their feet, wandering deeper into the woods. Even as they walked, Emmelyne knew, that she was going to get into trouble for what R'hllor... for what s _he_ had done.


	8. Chapter Seven: Starks Divided

Arya and Emmelyne were silent as they stood before King Robert. Emmelyne had made sure R'hllor was locked up in her room before Lannister men had dragged her before Robert and Cersei. Arya held tightly onto her elder sister's hand, shaking with anxiety. All they needed was Ned, and they could get the matter settled. Emmelyne squeezed Arya's hand protectively. "It's alright, little wolf," she whispered.  
The crowd parted, a cacophony of whispers surrounding everyone as Ned stepped forward. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Arya stated.  
"I'm sorry, too," Emmelyne lied smoothly.  
Arya embraced Ned quickly, while Emmelyne gave a weak smile to her father. "Are either of you hurt?" Ned asked.  
"No," Arya answered.  
Emmelyne shook her head. "It's alright," he said softly, and this time he pulled both girls into an embrace.  
He looked at Robert, anger evident on his face as he spoke. "What is the meaning of this? Why were my daughters not brought to me at once?" he demanded.  
"How dare you speak to your king in that manner?" Cersei stated coolly.  
"Quiet, woman. Sorry, Ned. I never meant to frighten the girls. But we need to get this business done quickly," Robert said.  
"Your girls and that butcher's boy attacked my son. Those animals of theirs nearly tore his arm and leg off," Cersei explained.  
"That's not true! Nymeria just... bit him a little," Arya said.  
"R'hllor was only protecting Arya," Emmelyne added.  
"He was hurting Mycah," Arya nodded.  
"Joff told us what happened. Arya and that butcher's boy beat him with clubs while Emmelyne set the wolves on him," Cersei argued.  
"That's not what happened!" Arya stated.  
"Not at all!" Emmelyne agreed.  
"Yes it is! They all attacked me and Emmelyne threw my sword in the river," Joffrey said.  
"Liar!" Arya argued.  
"Shut up!" Joffrey snapped back.  
"Leave her alone!" Emmelyne hissed.  
"Enough!" Robert shouted. "He tells me one thing, they tell me another. Seven hells! What am I to make of this? Where's your other daughter, Ned?"  
"In bed asleep," Ned replied.  
"She's not," Cersei said. "Sansa, come here, darling."  
Sansa stepped into the room, Lannister men following her closely, and a blank expression on her face. She looked up at Robert. "Now, child, tell me what happened. Tell it all and tell it true. It's a great crime to lie to a king," he said.  
Sansa glanced between Ned and Robert. Joffrey eyed her with disdain. "I don't know," she finally said. "I don't remember. Everything happened so fast. I didn't see."  
"Liar!" Arya cried.  
She grabbed Sansa roughly by the hair. "Liar! Liar! Liar!" she shouted.  
"Arya!" Sansa screamed.  
"Hey, stop it! That's enough of that! Stop! Arya!" Ned stated, managing to pull the girls apart.  
Emmelyne stood stiff, staring down Cersei, who was smiling vaguely. "She's as wild as that animal of hers. I want Emmelyne and Arya punished," the queen said.  
"What would you have me do, whip them through the streets? Damn it, children fight. It's over," Robert stated.  
"Joffrey will bear these scars for the rest of his life," Cersei snapped in response.  
Robert didn't speak for a moment. He looked at Joffrey, then scoffed slightly. "You let these girls disarm you?" he demanded.  
Joffrey looked away, not answering. Robert sighed, looking back to the Starks. "Ned, see to it that your daughters are disciplined. I'll do the same with my son," he said.  
"Gladly, Your Grace," Ned nodded.  
Robert stood, starting to walk out of the room. "And what of the direwolves? What of the beasts that savaged your son?" Cersei questioned.  
Robert froze. "I forgot the damned wolves."  
He turned to a Lannister soldier. "We found no trace of the direwolves, Your Grace," the man replied.  
"No? So be it," Robert nodded.  
"We have another wolf," Cersei stated.  
Robert didn't speak for a moment. "As you will," he finally said.  
He continued walking. "You can't mean it," Ned said to him.  
"A direwolf's no pet. Get her a dog. She'll be happier for it," Robert replied, still walking.  
Sansa stared after him. "He doesn't mean Lady, does he?" she questioned meekly.  
Ned didn't respond, but that was the answer in itself. "No, no, not Lady! Lady didn't bite anyone! She's good!" Sansa shouted.  
"Lady wasn't there! You leave her alone!" Arya cried.  
Emmelyne was silent. Sansa took Ned's arm tightly, tears in her eyes. "Stop them. Don't let them do it. Please, please, it wasn't Lady!" she pleaded.  
Ned faced Robert. "Is this your command- - Your Grace?" he demanded.  
Robert didn't answer. He left the room in silence. "Where is the beast?" Cersei questioned.  
"Chained up outside, Your Grace," the Lannister soldier replied.  
Cersei smiled, looking to the bald form of Ilyn Payne. "Ser Ilyn, do me the honor," she instructed.  
"No," Ned argued. "Jory, take the girls to their rooms."  
Jory Cassel, ser Rodrik's nephew, nodded stiffly. Ned faced Cersei now. "If it must be done, then I'll do it myself," he said.  
"Is this some sort of trick?" Cersei asked.  
"The wolf is of the North. She deserves better than a butcher," Ned replied.  
Silence fell over the crowd as Ned turned, slowly leaving the room. Sansa broke down sobbing, and Jory pushed Ilyn aside as he moved to the three girls. He took Sansa's shoulder, pulling her close as she cried. "Jory," Emmelyne said softly.  
"Yes?" the dark-haired man questioned.  
"I locked R'hllor in my room. He's alive."  
Jory nodded slowly, taking her shoulder as well. "Shh. Don't tell anyone else, alright? It'll all settle down soon enough," he murmured.  
"Alright," Emmelyne agreed.  
Outside the inn's walls, night was falling. Ned was quiet as he walked, coming up before the Hound. Sandor led his horse along, and the body of a young boy was sprawled across the horse's back. "The butcher's boy- - you rode him down?" Ned questioned.  
Sandor didn't look back as he gave his response. "He ran, not very fast."  
He continued on his way without another word. Ned sighed, turning and walking the way Sandor had came. He reached a post, where someone had chained up Lady. The direwolf looked at him, panting slightly, her breath leaving a cool mist. Ned lowered to one knee, running his fingers through the wolf's thick fur. He drew a knife from his belt, and Lady let out a whine. She knew that something was wrong. Her pitiful whimpering made Ned almost want to cry. "I'm sorry," he said to the wolf.  
Of course, Lady couldn't understand him. He took a deep breath. Lady whined again, almost pleading with Ned not to kill her. His hands were shaking. He had to do this. This was the only way. He pulled back his arm, muscles tense. He gave a hard thrust. Lady yelped. He felt the warm, sticky blood coat his fingers. A shuddering breath escaped him.  
Miles away, in his bed in Winterfell, Bran Stark opened his eyes.


	9. Chapter Eight: King's Landing Troubles

Ned, Arya, Sansa, and Emmelyne were quiet as they rode up to the gates of King's Landing. The wagon containing Sansa, Arya, and Emmelyne slowly rolled to a halt. Stark banners waved in the slight breeze, the gray direwolf against a white backdrop. It was a complete contrast to the bright reds and golds of King's Landing. Septa Mordane held tightly to the wood of the wagon, fearing she'd fall as it jostled about. R'hllor lie at Emmelyne's feet. The business on the Kingsroad had apparently been forgotten, since Cersei said nothing upon noticing the direwolf.  
Once the party entered the courtyard, Ned hopped off the back of his horse. He was greeted almost instantly by a steward, who took a long look at him before he spoke. "Welcome, Lord Stark. Grand Maester Pycelle has called a meeting of the Small Council. The honor of your presence is requested."  
Ned turned to Septa Mordane. "Get the girls settled in. I'll be back in time for supper," he said.  
Mordane nodded. "And, Jory, you go with them," Ned added as an afterthought.  
"Yes, my lord," Jory agreed.  
He turned back to the steward, who hesitated a moment before speaking again. "If you'd like to change into something more appropriate..." he trailed off.  
Ned didn't answer. He slid off his leather gloves, following the steward into the castle. Emmelyne raised a hand to her necklace, tracing her finger along the hammered metal shapes. "We have entered the lion's den. Few who arrive, survive," she murmured.  
Jory gave her a pointed look, while Sansa stared at her with indignation. Arya simply chuckled.  
Everyone began dismounting their horses, including Jory. As Arya, Sansa, and Septa Mordane climbed from the wagon, Jory moved to Emmelyne, holding out his arm. "Would you like some help?" he questioned, half-smiling.  
She smiled a little. "Yes, I would," she agreed, taking his arm.  
He stepped aside as she carefully stepped off the wagon, R'hllor following. Arya rolled her eyes, and Sansa couldn't help but notice that Emmelyne was still holding Jory's arm as they walked. Emmelyne looked ahead, but Jory kept his eyes on her. She didn't know it, but he was slowly falling in love with her.  
Only a few moments later, Emmelyne found herself unpacking in her new chambers. She smiled vaguely as she drew the jeweled cane from her trunk. Her pale fingers ran along the glittering gems. The cane was beautiful in all aspects of the word. But it had one flaw. At the end, the bone had blackened. It was from where Vryeo had once stoked the fire in the woods. Emmelyne carefully set it down by the bed. She brushed her skirts, digging a new dress from her trunk. This one, while still red, was very different from the Northern style dresses she typically wore. She'd made this dress special for the heat of King's Landing.  
It was ankle length, though the fabric was thin and cool. The top was low cut, with long sleeves that mimicked the style of Cersei's, as seemed the trend of ladies in King's Landing. She laid the dress out next to the cane. The new dress would be appropriate for supper, as well as the rest of the days activities.  
Emmelyne was quiet as she stripped off her original dress, the red fabric falling away to reveal milky white skin. As she removed her underclothes, it felt as though a great burden had been lifted. She'd need to put her underclothes back on for supper, but for now she was content with her body completely bare.  
R'hllor whined softly, his ears perking up. "Do we have a visitor, my pet?" she said softly.  
No sooner had the words left her lips when a soft knock sounded at the door. "Who is it?" she questioned.  
"Jory," the man's kind voice replied.  
She glanced at R'hllor, chuckling softly. Jory was going to get a surprise. "Come in," she said.  
The door opened, and Jory stepped inside. He froze in the doorway, his eyes widening. "Sorry," he managed to say.  
He started to turn, but Emmelyne laughed softly. "You're welcome to stay. Close the door behind you," she instructed.  
Jory was quiet, but he closed the door. He turned to face her, his eyes scanning her body. She stepped closer to him, smiling as she placed her hands on his shoulders. He smiled back, starting to lean close to her. His face was inches from hers, when suddenly she stepped back. "I should be getting ready for supper," she murmured.  
Jory furrowed his eyebrows. "I thought..." he trailed off.  
She cocked her head, a tiny smile on her face. "You thought what?"  
He didn't know how to answer. Finally, Emmelyne chuckled lowly. She leaned close, kissing him on the cheek. "I have to go to supper," she whispered in his ear, her breath causing the hairs to rise on the back of his neck.  
He nodded slightly. "Alright," he said.  
She smirked as she stepped away, picking up her dress from the bed. "It would be best if you left now, Jory," she said after a brief pause.  
"Of course," Jory sputtered out, and he quickly turned and left the room.  
Emmelyne silently dressed herself back up, touching the cane one last time before she left her chambers.  
After a brief walk, Emmelyne found herself sat between Arya and Sansa at a table. Septa Mordane sat across from the girls. The women sat in silence, which was only penetrated by the sounds of Arya stabbing at the table with her butter knife. Finally, Septa Mordane had enough. "Enough of that, young lady. Eat your food," she instructed, her tone sharp and severe.  
"I'm practicing," Arya snapped in response.  
"Practicing for what?" Sansa questioned, clearly annoyed.  
"The prince," Arya said stiffly.  
"Arya, stop!" Septa Mordane stated.  
"He's a liar and a coward and he killed my friend," Arya said, stabbing the table so hard that the blade stuck in the wood.  
"The Hound killed your friend," Sansa argued.  
"The Hound does whatever the prince tells him to do," Arya responded, wrenching the knife free and continuing her assault on the table.  
"You're an idiot," Sansa stated.  
"You're a liar, and if you told the truth Mycah would be alive!" Arya said emphatically.  
Emmelyne remained quiet, not wishing to get herself involved in the fight. "Enough!" Septa Mordane snapped.  
Arya froze, stabbing the knife into the table as if making a point. Septa Mordane rose from her chair, stepping around and taking Arya by the shoulders. She stood the girl up from her seat, turning her towards the door. As she did so, Ned entered the room. He looked around, quite confused. "What's happening here?" he questioned.  
Arya spun around, hoping Ned would come to her defense. "Arya would rather act like a beast than a lady," Septa Mordane explained.  
Ned cast a look in his youngest daughters direction. She looked down at the floor, not speaking. "Go to your room. We'll speak later," Ned told her.  
Arya made no protest as she turned on her heel, leaving the room in silence. Emmelyne watched her go, a fleeting smile on her lips. Sansa, on the other hand, continued eating, completely silent. Ned sighed a little, turning a paper-wrapped parcel over in his hands. He placed it in front of Sansa, trying his best to appear cheerful. "That's for you, love," he said.  
Emmelyne redirected her attention to Sansa's gift, watching her sister peel back the brown paper. Ned took a seat beside Emmelyne, watching Sansa as well. Once the gift had been unwrapped, Emmelyne took a close look at what it was. A doll. Ned smiled. "The same dollmaker makes all of Princess Myrcella's toys," he said proudly.  
Sansa gave no response. Ned seemed confused. "Don't you like it?" he questioned.  
"I haven't played with dolls since I was eight," Sansa said coldly.  
She turned to Septa Mordane, a glare on her face. "May I be excused?" she asked.  
"You've barely eaten a thing," Septa Mordane responded.  
"It's alright. Go on," Ned said, leaning his head in his palm as he sighed.  
Sansa stood from the table, throwing her napkin down as she strode out of the room. "And then there were three," Emmelyne said after a moment of quiet.  
Ned shook his head. "War was easier than daughters," he said simply.


	10. Chapter Nine: The Abruptness of Death

The crowd was in a frenzy as they waited for the Hand's Tournament to begin. Emmelyne sat beside Sansa, though she kept a space open, waiting for someone to take it. Sansa gazed at Joffrey, offering him a kind smile. He took one look at her, then shifted in his seat, averting his eyes. As Sansa looked away, a man stepped up. He was about Catelyn's age, with dark, graying hair and a pointed beard, paired with deep, brown eyes. "Lover's quarrel?" he questioned her, his tone kind.  
"I'm sorry. Do I...?" Sansa trailed off.  
"Sansa dear, this is Lord Baelish. He's known- -" Septa Mordane began.  
"An old friend of the family," Lord Baelish interrupted, taking the seat between Sansa and Emmelyne. "I've known your mother a long, long time," he smiled.  
Arya leaned forward in her seat. "Why do they call you Littlefinger?" she questioned loudly.  
"Arya!" Sansa scolded, turning to face her younger sister.  
"Don't be rude," Septa Mordane added.  
"No, it's quite alright. When I was a child, I was very small, and I come from a little spit of land called the Fingers, so you see, it's an exceedingly clever nickname," Lord Baelish chuckled.  
Suddenly, Robert rose from his seat. "I've been sitting here for days! Start the damn joust before I piss myself!" he roared, setting down his skin of wine.  
Cersei, obviously annoyed by this, stood from her seat, leaving the small tent where the family was seated. The Hound stepped aside, letting her pass. The crowd began to cheer, and Emmelyne rolled eyes at their excitement. A huge man on a huge black stallion rode out from the left, and a much smaller man rode from the right. "Gods, who is that?" Emmelyne questioned, surprised by first man's almost inhuman size.  
Lord Baelish directed his attention to her. "Ser Gregor Clegane. They call him the Mountain. The Hound's older brother," he answered.  
The Mountain bowed his head slightly toward Robert, though his eyes were locked on his brother. "And his opponent?" Emmelyne asked.  
"Ser Hugh of the Vale. He was Lord Arryn's squire. Look how far he's come."  
Ser Hugh bowed his head to Robert as well. "Yes, yes, enough of the bloody pomp. Have at it!" Robert urged.  
The two men rode to the either side of the field. A horn blew, and they readied themselves for the charge. Squires hurried up, handing the men lances and shields. The second the squires stepped back, the men began riding. The first time they charged, neither man was unseated. They rode to either end once more, then charged once more. Emmelyne knew something was going to happen. She leaned forward in her seat, staring at them closely. The Mountain had angled his lance a certain way; it would hit Hugh's lance and splinter the latter's. But she didn't know what he would gain from this. The questioned was answered quickly as the Mountain shoved his lance forward. It happened too fast to see; Ser Hugh's horse kept riding but there was a sudden scream from the crowd, followed closely by a splatter of blood. Robert stood, eyes wide. Hugh tumbled from his horse's back, and now Emmelyne could see clearly what had happened, and so could the rest of the crowd. A splintered shard of wooden lance jutted from Hugh's throat, spurting blood across his shining armor and the dirt. He coughed, horrible sounds escaping him. Emmelyne went stiff in her seat, eyes wide. Arya shared her expression, her mouth agape. Hugh raised a hand feebly, as if trying to pull free the wood. Instead, another cough escaped him, blood splattering his face in the process. "Seven fucking hells," Emmelyne whispered.  
The crowd watched in horror as his movements came to an abrupt halt. The Mountain simply returned to the end of the field, uncaring. Two squires hurried to the field, one picking up Hugh's arm and the other taking his leg. They hurried him off the field.  
No one wanted to speak. Finally, Lord Baelish looked to Emmelyne. "Not what you were expecting?" he questioned  
Emmelyne shook her head in response. Lord Baelish leaned close, whispering in her ear. "Has anyone told you the story of the Mountain and the Hound?" he asked.  
Emmelyne turned, staring at the Hound. Lord Baelish turned as well. "Lovely little tale of brotherly love," Lord Baelish said.  
Emmelyne was about to turn away, when the Hound's eyes landed on her. He watched her closely, expressionless and silent. The way he was watching her felt... strange. She turned quickly, and Lord Baelish continued his story. "The Hound was just a pup, six years old maybe, Gregor a few years older, already a big lad, already getting a bit of a reputation. Some lucky boys just born with a talent for violence. One evening, Gregor found his little brother playing with a toy by the fire. Gregor's toy, a wooden knight. Gregor never said a word. He just grabbed his brother by the scruff of his neck and shoved his face into the burning coals. Held him there while the boy screamed, while his face melted. There aren't very many people who know that story."  
"I promise that I won't tell anybody," Emmelyne said quietly.  
"No, please don't. If the Hound so much as heard you mention it, I'm afraid all the knights in King's Landing would not be able to save you."  
He slowly moved away from her. Emmelyne's fingers curled into tight fists at her sides. For the first time in the fifteen years she had been alive, she was afraid


	11. Chapter Ten: Queen of Love and Beauty

Emmelyne paced her chambers, debating if she would attend the second round of the tourney. R'hllor sat on her bed, watching her lazily. She wanted to see who the Mountain would be fighting, but the way the Hound had looked at her and Lord Baelish's warning scared her beyond belief. Arya wouldn't be attending, but she had her dancing lessons. Emmelyne had to go; it would an insult to not attend.  
She smoothed her hands along her dress, trying to find something to do with her hands. R'hllor yapped at her, as if trying to tell her it was alright. She smiled as she sat down next to him on the bed, running her fingers through his thick fur. "I suppose I should go," she murmured.  
She gave him a quick scratch behind the ears, standing up. He jumped down off the bed, following her to the tourney field.  
Sitting among people again, Emmelyne felt a bit better. Normally large crowds like this one bothered her; they were always loud and annoying. But she felt safer knowing she was surrounded by people, and that she had R'hllor by her side. Ned, Septa Mordane, and Sansa joined her a few moments later, Sansa shooting the red direwolf a glare as she took a seat next to Ned. Emmelyne noticed Sansa had avoided sitting beside her. The crowd began cheering as the Mountain came out. "Where's Arya?" Ned questioned the girls.  
"At her dancing lessons," Sansa replied stiffly.  
Sansa's gaze drifted to the man the Mountain would be jousting. Ser Loras Tyrell. "The Knight of the Flowers," she grinned.  
Loras rode out with a single red rose in his hand, which he would bestow upon a lucky lady from the crowd, naming her the Queen of Love and Beauty. He scanned the crowd closely, and Emmelyne couldn't help but admit to herself that he was handsome. With a thin, angled face, long blonde hair, and sapphire blue eyes, he was one of the most handsome men she had ever seen. Those perfect blue eyes landed on Emmelyne, and he gave a dazzling smile as he rode up to her, holding out the rose. "It goes with your dress," he said kindly.  
Emmelyne smiled in response. "Thank you, ser Loras," she said, tucking the rose behind her ear.  
She noticed that he wasn't looking at her, that his gaze had drifted a few seats above her. She made a mental note to see who the smile was truly meant for once he'd rode away. Sansa glared.  
Loras rode to the Mountain's side, bowing respectfully to Robert, who gave him a simple nod in response. The Mountain's stallion neighed loudly, turning toward Loras's gray mare. Loras shifted his mare away, a slight smirk on his face. The two men rode to either sides of the field, and once more squires hurried to give them lances and shields. The Mountain's stallion continued to fuss, kicking up dirt. Another squire handed Loras a helm, intricately decorated with hammered metal roses. A golden rose was the sigil of House Tyrell. Sansa took Ned's arm. "Don't let Ser Gregor hurt him," she pleaded.  
"Please, Father," Emmelyne added.  
"Hey," Ned said, trying to calm the girls.  
"I can't watch," Sansa stated.  
"One hundred Gold Dragons on the Mountain," Emmelyne heard Lord Baelish saying from behind her.  
She took this as her chance to see who Loras's smile was intended for. But she only saw Renly, King Robert's younger brother. Renly was smiling as he answered Lord Baelish. "I'll take that bet."  
"Now, what will I buy with one hundred Gold Dragons?" Lord Baelish mused. "A dozen barrels of Dornish wine? Or a girl from the pleasure houses of Lys?"  
"Or you could even buy a friend," Renly smirked in response.  
Renly looked like a younger Robert, with short brown hair, dark eyes, and kind face. Not exactly handsome, but not ugly, either. Lord Baelish chuckled at Renly's jest, turning back around in his seat.  
"He's going to die," Sansa was saying.  
"Ser Loras rides well," Ned encouraged.  
Finally, a squire handed Loras a lance. The Mountain's stallion pawed at the dirt, sending clouds of it up into the air. It took a few steps forward, the Mountain struggling just to keep it in place. A squire from the side blew a horn, and the response was instantanious. The two men bolted forward. They were coming up close. Loras's lance slammed against the Mountain's shield. The Mountain's stallion went sprawling, hitting the wooden barrier and sending it crumbling beneath it's and the Mountain's combined weight. The crowd gasped. Renly rose from his seat, roaring with laughter. The stallion got to it's feet, hurrying toward Loras. "Such a shame, Littlefinger. It would have been so nice for you to have a friend," Renly mocked.  
Lord Baelish rose as well, waving a hand toward Loras. "And tell me, Lord Renly, when will you be having _your_ friend?" he questioned.  
Renly cast a glance toward Loras, swallowing nervously as he took his seat. Lord Baelish grinned as he sat back down. Loras lifted his helm, riding along all smiles, waving at the crowd. Lord Baelish He reached forward, taking Sansa's shoulder. "Loras knew his mare was in heat," he said. "Quite crafty, really."  
"Ser Loras would never do that. There's no honor in tricks," Sansa replied.  
"No honor and quite a bit gold."  
The Mountain was in a rage. He took of his helm, throwing it to the ground. "Sword!" he roared.  
A squire quickly ran to him, handing him a glinting blade. Loras reached the middle of the field, and he smiled, bowing to Robert again. Everyone continued clapping and cheering, oblivious to the Mountain. Gregor got their attention quickly, however, when he swung his sword, chopping his stallion's head clean off. It fell to the ground, Sansa gasping as it did. Loras swung his mare around, seeing what the commotion was. He was only greeted with Gregor's enraged face as the Mountain stalked toward him. He swung his sword, hitting Loras's armor, sending him to the dirt. The crowd gasped. Gregor advanced, swinging down at Loras, who managed to quickly curl up beneath his shield. Renly rose from his seat again, eyes wide and nervous. The Hound hurried forward. "Leave him be!" he shouted at his elder brother.  
Gregor swung again, hitting Loras's shield, sending splinters of wood flying. Loras rolled away as the Hound swung his sword. Steel slammed against steel as the two brothers sword's clashed together. A metallic ring filled the air. Joffrey stood from his seat. The brothers backed away from each other, Gregor glaring, and the Hound tense. Gregor charged, shouting with anger. Their swords clashed once more. Gregor forced his sword forward, and the Hound stumbled back. They continued to swing their swords, neither one willing to give up the fight. Emmelyne was frozen in her seat, silently pleading for the Hound to be the victor. Finally, it was enough for Robert. He rose from his seat, voice rising above the gasps of the crowd. "Stop this madness in the name of your king!"  
Gregor turned, while the Hound dropped to the ground, pressing his sword to the dirt. Gregor threw his sword, storming off the field. "Let him go!" Robert instructed the Kingsguard members who were manning the gate.  
Joffrey sat back down, and Emmelyne allowed herself to relax. The Hound slowly got back to his feet, and Loras did the same, moving to his side. "I owe you my life, Ser," Loras said.  
"I'm no ser," the Hound replied simply.  
Loras didn't seem to care. He took the Hound's arm, raising it triumphantly. The crowd erupted into applause and cheers. Sansa and Emmelyne got to their feet, both girls grinning as they clapped their hands. Little did everyone know, but Emmelyne was not cheering for Loras. She was cheering for the Hound. Renly was the next to stand, trying not to smile as he clapped politely, clearly shaken by the whole event. Little by little everyone else rose, clapping and smiling happily. The Hound almost seemed overwhelmed. He gave a stiff nod toward everyone, not saying a word. His gaze drifted to Emmelyne, and their eyes met for a moment. Her smile faded, and she bit her lip slightly.


	12. Chapter Eleven: The Game

As Emmelyne made her way back toward her chambers, she could've sworn she heard footsteps behind her. R'hllor stopped suddenly, growling lowly, ears perking up. She stopped as well, turning around. Behind her stood Renly, trying his best to conceal himself in the shadows. "What are you doing, Lord Renly?" she questioned.  
He sighed, knowing she had seen him. "No need for the 'lord' part. Robert doesn't think my job is important anyway. Just Renly is alright," he said.  
"Well, Renly, why are you following me?"  
She had caught of him guard. He didn't know how to respond, so she decided to tell him what she had noted at the tourney. "Loras was smiling at you. Are you following me because it has something to do with that?" she asked, a small smile growing on her face.  
"Perhaps," he replied.  
"Please, be honest. I'll find out your secrets no matter what. You can make it much easier for me," she said.  
He sighed again. "I'm trying to figure out why he gave you the rose. There were many women in that crowd. Women who aren't pretty like you. He could've given it to any of them, but he chooses the girl that half of King's Landing has fallen in love with."  
Emmelyne laughed. "You're jealous."  
Renly paused. "Yes," he said. "I'm jealous."  
She took the rose from her hair, holding it out to Renly. "Take this. Jealousy doesn't suit you, Renly."  
He seemed confused. "You don't think it's strange, how I feel about Loras?"  
Emmelyne shook her head. "No, I don't. We can't help who we love, Renly. You've simply fallen in love with Loras."  
Renly smiled, taking the rose from her hand. "Thank you," he said.  
"You're very welcome," Emmelyne smiled in response.  
He turned, taking a long smell of the rose as he walked off down the hallway.  
 _Ned was being dragged before a crowd. Everyone was shouting. Arya was there, clinging to the statue of Baelor that stood before the Sept. She stared at Ned, confused. Emmelyne was stood between Sansa and Cersei, holding Sansa's hand as tightly as she could. Two men led Ned up the steps. "Treason!" a woman in the crowd roared.  
Sansa was smiling. Why? This was wrong. Something very wrong. Lord Baelish stood to the side, a smirk on his face. The men let go of Ned, and they moved away from him. "I am Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Hand of the King," Ned was saying.  
He looked at Sansa, who nodded, urging to him to keep speaking. "I come before you to confess my treason in the sight of gods and men. I betrayed the faith of my king and the trust of my friend Robert. I swore to protect and defend his children, but before his blood was cold I plotted to murder his son... and seize the throne for myself," he continued.  
He was lying. Emmelyne wanted to cry out, to tell someone that it was all a lie. The crowd roared with anger. Someone threw a rock, hitting Eddard in the head. Sansa gasped. Eddard hit the ground. The Hound took a step forward, helping Eddard to his feet. "Let the High Septon and Baelor the Blessed bear witness to what I say: Joffrey Baratheon is the one true heir to the iron throne, by the grace of all the gods, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm," Eddard said.  
Emmelyne was shaking slightly. "As we sin, so do we suffer. This man has confessed his crimes in sight of gods and men. The gods are just but beloved Baelor taught us they can also be merciful. What is to be done with this traitor, your grace?" Pycelle asked Joffrey.  
The crowd started jeering again. Joffrey smiled, raising a hand to silence them. "My mother wishes me to let Lord Eddard Stark join the Night's Watch. Stripped of all titles and powers, he would serve the realm in permanent exile. My lady Sansa has begged mercy for Eddard. And Emmelyne wishes for him to be sent back to Winterfell. But they have the soft hearts of women. So long as I am your king, treason shall never go unpunished. Ser Ilyn, bring me his head!" Joffrey commanded.  
Emmelyne started screaming. She tried to run forward, but the Hound took her shoulders. Sansa was shouting, pleading. The Hound pulled Emmelyne against his chest, his grip tight. "No! Please!" Emmelyne cried.  
The Hound turned her away from Ned, staring into her eyes. He didn't speak. Emmelyne collapsed against his chest, sobbing._  
Emmelyne awoke, shaking madly, her face pale and covered in sweat. R'hllor, sensing that something was wrong, climbed up onto the bed beside her. He nudged her gently with his head, whimpering. She ran her fingers through his thick fur, trying to calm her shaking hands. It was only then she realized that her face was damp with tears, and she brought a hand to her cheeks, wiping away their remnants. The direwolf shifted, licking her cheek. She smiled weakly. R'hllor jumped off the bed, cocking his head at her. She followed, her knees weak as he wandered to the hallway. He needed to go for his morning walk. Emmelyne was quiet as they walked out to the gardens. R'hllor ran off after a brightly colored bird, while she sat herself on a bench. A low, shuddering breath escaped her. She needed to think about the vision. Ned had confessed to treason. But Ned was the most honorable man in all of Westeros, and Robert was like a brother to him. He wouldn't perform treason against Robert. But Joffrey was in charge, so that must have meant that Robert wasn't King at that point in time.  
She sighed, holding her head in her hands. It was too much to try and figure out in one moment. She'd need to process everything as it came into play.  
Footsteps sounded behind her, followed closely by a voice. "Lovely day to be outside."  
Emmelyne almost groaned as she turned sideways, eyeing Joffrey with disdain. "My prince," she acknowledged.  
The Hound stood by Joffrey's side, still dressed in full armor, a sword at his hip. Emmelyne eyed him closely. He had been in her vision as well, holding her as she cried.  
Joffrey looked between the two, a slight smile forming on his face. "Are you wary of my dog? I can send him away, if it pleases you, my lady," he said.  
"No," Emmelyne said quickly.  
She tore her eyes away from the Hound, shaking her head. Joffrey didn't seem to care. He looked at Sandor, the smile still on his face. "Go away," he instructed.  
Sandor nodded, casting a glance toward Emmelyne as he wandered deeper into the garden. Joffrey sat next to Emmelyne, looking her over. "That's the same dress you had on yesterday," he noted.  
She scoffed. "Have you made it a habit to see what I'm wearing everyday?" she retorted.  
"It's not the clothes I admire. It's you."  
Emmelyne thought for a moment. Flattery and kindness would be the best approach to appease the boy, no matter how much she hated him.  
She turned to face him, letting a smile grace her lips. "I admire you as well, my prince. The way you fought of my sister and I's direwolves, it shows your bravery."  
He seemed pleased with this. "You think I'm brave?"  
"Yes, of course, my prince. You're an admirable boy. Or, should I say, man?"  
Flattery worked. "Admirable? Really? You haven't shown much interest in me. It's always Sansa doting on me," he said.  
"I only want to make sure that Sansa's happy. She is my sister after all. I suppose I've been hiding my affections. But it's very difficult, you see."  
Joffrey was grinning now, and he took Emmelyne's hand in his. "You might be the most interesting girl I've ever met. You're certainly better than Sansa, of course. All the poor thing wants to do is be with me."  
Emmelyne chuckled. "Who could blame her?"  
This was perfect. Now, Emmelyne was playing the Great Game.


	13. Chapter Twelve: Can't Tell a Soul

As the days passed, Emmelyne and Joffrey's visits became more frequent. Emmelyne, despite her hatred of the boy, continued her flattery. He began to speak of marrying her instead of Sansa, an idea that she tried to force out of his mind, with little success. Their meetings often took place during early morning in the gardens, with R'hllor running about and the Hound always keeping a close watch on the pair. The Hound barely ever joined the conversations, except to agree with something Joffrey had said. Emmelyne learned plenty about Joffrey, how he longed for Robert's approval and how Cersei wanted to control his every action. He expressed to her a great deal of things that she'd promised not to tell a soul.  
It was during one of these meetings that Emmelyne and Joffrey found themselves sitting on a bench. The Hound stood by, watching R'hllor chase after a rabbit. "Dog," Joffrey said.  
The Hound turned to face, him. "Yes, my prince?" he questioned, and Emmelyne noticed that he rolled his eyes a bit.  
"Give me Emmelyne's gift," Joffrey commanded.  
The Hound sighed, producing a necklace from the small leather bag that hung alongside his sword. Joffrey grinned, taking it from the Hound's hand and turning toward Emmelyne. "May I?" he asked.  
"Of course, my prince," she replied, offering a smile.  
He rose from the bench, moving behind her and clasping the necklace around her neck. "Do you like it? I had it made special for you," he said.  
She looked down at the charm, hammered gold in the shape of a flame. Small rubies decorated it. Emmelyne had to admit, despite how much she hated Joffrey, the necklace was beautiful. She brushed her dark hair forward, and Joffrey took note of how it was styled quite like Cersei's golden tresses. "I love it," she said softly.  
Joffrey grinned. "You look beautiful. Dog, doesn't she look beautiful?" he demanded.  
Emmelyne looked at the Hound, raising an eyebrow as she awaited his response. "She's radiant," he said stiffly.  
Joffrey chuckled. "I gave Sansa one like my mother's. Stupid, really. She adored it. Gods know, she's much more excited to marry me, than I am to her."  
Emmelyne nodded a bit. "She quite likes you, my prince."  
"I want to marry you, Emmelyne. I know I've said it plenty of times, but you're different than Sansa. Very different. I like you so much more."  
"Make Sansa happy, my prince. She's so excited. I wouldn't want her to be disappointed," Emmelyne said.  
"I will. But I'll be miserable doing it," Joffrey muttered.  
Emmelyne shrugged slightly. "The more lies you feed her, the better. She likes the attention."  
"Yes, she does. I kissed her, you know. She seemed pleased, but all I could imagine was it being you, instead," Joffrey said.  
She didn't know how to respond, so she just smiled a little. He took her hand. "I think you might be the most beautiful woman I've ever met," he murmured.  
"Thank you, my prince," she replied softly.  
And then he was leaning close, kissing her. She hesitated, then kissed him back. The two broke apart, Joffrey grinning. Emmelyne bit her lip, smiling vaguely. "Best keep away from prying eyes, my prince," the Hound suddenly said.  
Scattered voices began to near the pair. Joffrey stood quickly from the bench, hurrying deeper into the gardens. Emmelyne stood, unsure of what to do. The Hound took a step toward her, taking her arm. "I hope you know what you're doing, girl," he stated.  
"What do you mean?" she questioned.  
"Don't play dumb. I know that you hate Joffrey. Just know that he can be dangerous."  
She nodded. "I understand."  
"Good," he said. "Because you won't be very happy if he stops liking you."  
With that, he followed Joffrey.  
That night, Emmelyne, Sansa, and Arya found themselves in Ned's chambers. He leaned heavily on a cane. Jaime Lannister had stabbed him through the leg. He'd also killed Jory.  
Ned looked at the girls. "I'm sending you all back to Winterfell," he said.  
"What?!" Sansa cried.  
"Listen," Ned urged.  
"What about Joffrey?"  
"Are you dying because of your leg? Is that why you're sending us home?" Arya questioned frantically.  
"What? No," Ned said.  
"Please, Father. Please don't," Sansa begged.  
"You can't. I've got my lessons with Syrio. I'm finally getting good," Arya stated.  
Emmelyne made no protest. "This isn't a punishment. I want you back in Winterfell for your own safety," Ned explained.  
"Can we take Syrio back with us?" Arya questioned.  
"Who cares about your stupid dancing teacher? I can't go. I'm supposed to marry Prince Joffrey. I love him and I'm meant to be his queen and have his babies," Sansa argued.  
"Seven Hells," Arya said.  
"When you're old enough, I'll make you a match with someone who's worthy of you, someone who's brave and gentle and strong," Ned offered Sansa.  
"I don't want someone brave and gentle and strong. I want him! He'll be the greatest king that ever was, a golden lion, and I'll give him sons with beautiful blond hair," Sansa said.  
A grave look appeared on Ned's face. Neither Sansa nor Arya noticed it, but Emmelyne did.  
"The Lion's not his sigil, idiot. He's a Stag, like his father," Arya corrected Sansa.  
"He is not. He is nothing like that old drunk king," Sansa stated.  
Ned hesitated. "Go on, girls. Get your septa and start packing your things," he said.  
"Wait!" Sansa cried.  
"Come on," Arya snapped, taking her older sister tightly by the wrist.  
"But it's not fair!"  
The younger girls left the room, but Emmelyne remained. Ned looked at her. "Didn't you hear me? Go on," he told her.  
"I had a vision," she responded stiffly.  
"What kind of vision?" he questioned.  
"A terrible one. Joffrey was king. He said you had committed treason. You confessed to planning to murder Joffrey and take the throne for yourself. He wanted you beheaded."  
He took a few steps toward her, taking her shoulder. "I've discovered things, Em. Things that you can't tell a soul," he said.  
She was anxious now. "What kind of things?"  
He leaned close, his next words barely a whisper. "I don't think Joffrey is Robert's son. I don't think Tommen and Myrcella are his children either."  
"What do you mean? Who do you think their father might be?" Emmelyne asked.  
"You have to promise me, Em. Promise me that you won't tell anyone."  
"I promise."  
"I think their father is Jaime Lannister."


	14. Chapter Thirteen: King of the Andals

Emmelyne sat in her chambers, sewing the sleeve of a dress she was working on. Suddenly, her door was flung open. Joffrey stood in the doorway. He was in tears. "What's wrong?" Emmelyne questioned.  
He shook his head furiously, closing the door behind him. "My father..." he whispered.  
"Is he hurt? What happened?" Emmelyne urged.  
Joffrey couldn't- or wouldn't- answer. He moved to her, sobbing. She hesitated before wrapping her arms around him, letting him cry into the red fabric of her dress. "He's hurt. A boar attacked him," he managed to say through his tears.  
She bit her lip, running her hand along his golden blond hair. "It's alright, my prince," she encouraged softly.  
"He's going to die," Joffrey said.  
"It's alright," she repeated.  
She continued stroking his hair, silent as she did so. She found herself wondering when he would leave her alone.  
It was only the next morning Emmelyne found herself being summoned to the throne room by Joffrey and Cersei. She didn't know why, but she made a careful assumption that Robert had died. She supposed that Joffrey was summoning everyone to pledge loyalty to him, as the new king.  
Emmelyne stepped into the throne room. As she looked around, she noted that her father was leading the city watch. Lord Baelish stood among the people, along with the master of spies, Varys. Varys was a eunuch, bald and short. He typically dressed himself in brightly colored robes, but that day had settled for a muted green ensemble.  
Emmelyne furrowed her eyebrows, pressing herself to the wall. The knights of the Kingsguard stood in a rectangular formation, surrounding everyone in the room.  
A steward began speaking. "All hail His Grace, Joffrey of Houses Baratheon and Lannister, the first of his name, King of the Andals and the first men, lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm."  
So Emmelyne was correct. Robert had succumbed to his injuries. Ser Barristan Selmy, the head of the Kingsguard, stood proudly before the Iron Throne, where Joffrey had seated himself. Barristan was an older man, with white hair and dark eyes. His face was wrinkled, though he held himself with the posture of a man much younger than he. He was the only Kingsguard who was not wearing a helm.  
Ned stepped before Ser Barristan, and no one spoke for a moment. Emmelyne could sense the tension even from her place by the doors. Cersei sat beside her eldest son, a complacent expression on her face. Emmelyne wondered why she was not mourning her husband. The queen was not even wearing black mourning clothes. Instead, she wore a dark green gown.  
The Hound stood on Joffrey's other side, wearing his helm of a snarling dog. Joffrey smiled, his gaze flitting to Emmelyne before he began to speak. "I command the council to make the arrangements for my coronation. I wish to be crowned within the fortnight. Today I shall accept oaths of fealty from my loyal councilors. I also command Lord Eddard to allow me to wed his eldest daughter, Emmelyne, in the place of Sansa."  
Emmelyne froze. Ned didn't seem to care about this statement, however. "Ser Barristan, I believe no man here could ever question your honor," Ned said.  
He produced a scroll of paper, holding it out to Barristan, who took it from Ned's outstretched hand. Barristan looked to Cersei and Joffrey. "King Robert's seal- - unbroken," he noted.  
He unfurled the paper, beginning to read. "'Lord Eddard Stark is herein named Protector of the Realm, to rule as regent until the heir come of age.'"  
So Robert wanted Ned to rule until Joffrey was older. Cersei stood. "May I see that letter, Ser Barristan?" she questioned.  
Barristan handed it over, returning to his place in the line of Kingsguard. "Protector of the Realm," Cersei said, a curious expression on her face. "Is this meant to be your shield, Lord Stark?"  
She smiled now, tearing the paper down the middle. "A piece of paper?" she added.  
Another tear. She let the pieces flutter to the ground. A silence fell over the throne room. Barristan shook his head, confused. "Those were the king's words," he said.  
"We have a new king now," Cersei stated.  
She looked at Ned, smirking. "Lord Eddard, when we last spoke you offered me some counsel. Allow me to return the courtesy. Bend the knee, my lord. Bend the knee and swear loyalty to my son and we shall allow you to live out your days in the gray waste you call home."  
Ned looked at the floor, and then back at Cersei. "Your son has no claim to the throne."  
Cersei scoffed, amused by the accusation. Joffrey, however, was enraged by it. "Liar!" he cried.  
"You condemn yourself with your own mouth, Lord Stark. Ser Barristan, seize this traitor," Cersei commanded.  
Ser Barristan hesitated before starting to walk up to Ned. "Ser Barristan is a good man, a loyal man. Do him no harm," Ned instructed the men of the city watch.  
Two men stepped to Ned's sides, their hands on the hilts of their swords. "You think he stands alone?" Cersei demanded.  
The Hound stepped forward, drawing his sword. Emmelyne took a few steps forward as well. "Kill him! Kill all of them, I command it!" Joffrey roared, getting to his feet.  
The Kingsguard drew their swords. Ned turned to his men. "Commander, take the queen and her children into custody. Escort them back to the royal apartments and keep them there under guard."  
"Men of the Watch!" the commander stated.  
They pointed their spears and swords, ready for a fight. "I want no bloodshed. Tell your men to lay down their swords. No one needs to die," Ned said.  
Cersei and Joffrey said nothing. But that was the answer in itself. "Now!" the commander of the Watch shouted.  
There was a sudden charge. A Kingsguard stabbed a man of the Watch through the stomach with a spear. Emmelyne's eyes widened. She quickly realized she would be caught in the midst of the fray. All around people were dying. The Hound joined, slicing a man down the middle with his sword. Emmelyne was shaking. She started to move to Ned, but realized all too quickly that he was surrounded. She saw him draw his sword, about to join the fight. But then Lord Baelish pulled a dagger. He came up behind Ned, pressing the steel to his throat. "Father!" Emmelyne cried.  
It seemed only then that everyone remembered Emmelyne was still in the room. "Dog!" Joffrey roared.  
The Hound cut down another man, looking to Joffrey. "Get Emmelyne out of here," Joffrey stated.  
In seconds the Hound was at Emmelyne's side, taking her arm roughly. "No! No, please. Father!" Emmelyne pleaded as he started to pull her from the throne room.  
He looked at her, an unreadable expression on his face. "Do you want to get yourself killed, girl?" he demanded.  
She shook her head weakly. "Then walk," he commanded.  
Her legs weak, she did as told. The Hound kept a tight grip on her arm as he lead her out of the throne room and into the hallway. "Go to your chambers and lock yourself inside," he instructed.  
"Alright," Emmelyne agreed.  
He gave her a push to get her moving, and she hurried off down the hallway in the direction of her chambers.  
Two thoughts ran through her mind. The first was wondering if Ned was alright. The second was about Joffrey. He was going to marry her instead of Sansa. 


	15. Chapter Fourteen: Long May he Reign

As Emmelyne walked the halls, she suddenly came upon Sansa and Septa Mordane. The two spied her quickly. "Where have you been?" Septa Mordane demanded.  
"We're supposed to leave today," Sansa added.  
"We're not going to be leaving," Emmelyne stated.  
The sounds of swords clashing echoed around the three woman, and Septa Mordane looked at Emmelyne nervously. "Have you done something?"  
"No. What's happening now is nothing I could've ever done," Emmelyne replied stiffly.  
"Sansa, you stay with Emmelyne. Go to her room. Bar the doors and make sure R'hllor is prepared to fight if he has to. Do not open the doors for anyone you do not know," Septa Mordane instructed.  
"What is it? What's happening?" Sansa questioned nervously.  
"Run!" Septa Mordane stated.  
Emmelyne took Sansa's arm, and the two ran off the other way. "This way!" a man was shouting.  
"Please, tell me what's going on," Sansa urged as they ran.  
"Not now," Emmelyne stated in response.  
They kept running, Emmelyne holding tightly onto Sansa. The two girls stopped quickly as the Hound's figure came around a corner. Sansa gasped softly, and Emmelyne went tense. "Stay away from us. I'll tell our father," Sansa stated.  
He advanced toward them, Sansa and Emmelyne backing away as he did so. "I'll- - I'll tell the queen," Sansa stuttered out.  
He chuckled. "Who do you think sent me?"  
Emmelyne shook her head furiously. "No, no. You told me to run. You told me to go to my room," she said.  
"That was what Joffrey commanded me to do. The queen has commanded me to bring you girls to her," he shrugged.  
"Let us go. I promise that you won't regret it," Emmelyne pleaded.  
"I'll regret it when Cersei's angry at me."  
Only moments later Sansa and Emmelyne found themselves in Cersei's chambers. Lord Baelish, Maester Pycelle, and Varys, stood behind Cersei. "Your father has proved to be an awful traitor, my dears," Varys said.  
"King Robert's body was still warm when Lord Eddard began plotting to steal Joffrey's rightful throne," Pycelle added.  
"He wouldn't do that. He knows how much I love Joffrey. He wouldn't. Please, Your Grace. There's been a mistake. Send for our father. He'll tell you- - the king was his friend" Sansa said.  
"Sansa, sweetling, you are innocent of any wrong, as is Emmelyne. We know that. Yet you are the daughters of a traitor," Cersei said, and then she looked to Emmelyne.  
"How can I let you marry my son?" she questioned the elder girl.  
Sansa seemed confused. "Joffrey is marrying me," she said.  
Cersei chuckled lowly. "You didn't tell her while you ran away?" she questioned Emmelyne, who shook her head in response.  
She looked back at Sansa. "My son wants to marry Emmelyne instead of you," she said simply.  
Sansa did not know how to respond. Pycelle spoke up next. "A child born of a traitor's seed is no fit consort for our king. Both girls are sweet things now, your grace, but in ten years who knows what treasons either of them may hatch?"  
"I don't even want to marry him. I won't be a traitor. Sansa can have him. She'll be a good wife," Emmelyne urged.  
Sansa nodded quickly. "I'll be a queen just like you, I promise. I won't hatch anything," she agreed.  
"The girls are innocent, Your Grace. They should be given a chance to prove their loyalty," Lord Baelish said.  
Cersei sighed. "Little dove," she said to Sansa. "You must write to Lady Catelyn and your brother, the eldest, what's his name?" she questioned.  
"Robb," Sansa said.  
Cersei nodded. "Word of your father's arrest will reach him soon, no doubt. Best it comes from you. If you would help your father, urge your brother to keep the king's peace. Tell him to come to King's Landing and swear his fealty to Joffrey," she instructed, pushing forward a piece of paper and a quill, along with an ink well.  
"If- - if I could see my father, talk to him about- -" Sansa began.  
Cersei's look told her to stop talking. "You disappoint me, child. We have told you of your father's treason. Why would you want to speak to a traitor?" she demanded.  
"I only meant that- - What will happen to him?"  
"That depends."  
"Depends on what?" Emmelyne questioned.  
"On your brother," Cersei stated. She picked up the quill, holding it out to Sansa. "And on you," she added.  
Sansa hesitated before taking the quill from Cersei's hand. "May- - May I please go to my room?" Emmelyne asked.  
"I suppose," Cersei agreed.  
Emmelyne stood, her hands shaking madly as she left Cersei's room. She slowly made her way back to her chambers, taking care to bar the door behind her. R'hllor perked up, cocking his head. She didn't say a word or even acknowledge him as she collapsed onto her bed, curling up into a ball. R'hllor knew something was wrong. He climbed up onto the bed, nestling into her side. "Good boy," she whispered, running her fingers through his red fur.  
She sighed, burying her face in his fur. "Good boy," she repeated as she settled into a much needed sleep.  
 _Someone was outside the door. Emmelyne hopped off the bed, teetering unsteadily on her paws. She moved toward the door, but found she was too short to see through. Her ears flattened against her head, and a low growl escaped her. The red fur on her back stood on end. A bark escaped her, and she whirled around to face the bed. Emmelyne lied there. But if Emmelyne was lying in the bed, then who was walking about the room? She walked toward the bed, peering at her at her sleeping form. Her eyes were rolled back so only the whites of them remained. This was strange. Very strange._  
Emmelyne jolted awake. As she sat up, her eyes landed on R'hllor, who watched her with an odd expression. She needed to see who was outside.  
Tripping slightly over her skirt, she climbed from the bed. She made her way to the door, peeking through a crack. A tall, imposing figure stood beside the door. Under one arm he held an unmistakable helm. Designed in the shape of a snarling dogs head. "The Hound," she whispered.  
He was guarding her door, either to make sure no one came in, or to make sure she didn't leave. She had a sneaking suspicion that it was the latter rather than the former.  
The next morning, R'hllor close at her heels, Emmelyne walked alongside Sansa in the throne room. Maester Pycelle was speaking. "It is also the wish of His Grace that his loyal servant Janos Slynt, Commander of the City Watch..." his words faded into the background.  
Sansa greeted the lords and knights that surrounded them, while Emmelyne stared at the floor. They reached the front of the throne room. Cersei sat in a chair beside Joffrey's throne. She caught Sansa's gaze, smiling. Emmelyne took note of the fact that Joffrey was not looking at her, but was smiling at Sansa as well.  
Pycelle continued talking. "In the place of the traitor Eddard Stark, it is the wish of His Grace that Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West, be appointed Hand of the King. Lastly, in these times of treason and turmoil, it is the view of the council that the life and safety of King Joffrey be of paramount importance."  
Cersei stood up from her seat. "Ser Barristan Selmy," she stated.  
Barristan stepped out of the line, standing before Cersei. "Your Grace, I am yours to command," he said, kneeling.  
"Rise, Ser Barristan."  
He did as told. "You may remove your helm," Cersei said.  
Again, he did this, though with hesitance. "You have served the realm long and faithfully. Every man and woman in the Seven Kingdoms owes you thanks. But it is time to put aside your armor and your sword. It is time to rest and look back with pride on your many years of service," Cersei concluded.  
A murmur passed over the crowd. "Your Grace, the Kingsguard is a sworn brotherhood. Our vows are taken for life. Only death relieves us of our sacred trust," Barristan said.  
"Whose death, Ser Barristan? Yours or your king's?" Cersei questioned simply.  
"You let my father die. You're too old to protect anybody," Joffrey stated, leaning forward on the throne.  
"Your Grace- -" Barristan began.  
"The council has determined that Ser Jaime Lannister will take your place as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard," Cersei said.  
"The man who profaned his blade with the blood of the king he had sworn to defend!" Barristan snapped.  
"Careful, ser."  
Varys spoke up. "We have nothing but gratitude for your long service, good ser. You shall be given a stout keep beside the sea, with servants to look after your every need."  
"A hall to die in and men to bury me," Barristan snapped.  
The crowd began muttering again. Barristan undid the clasp the kept his white cloak on. "I am a knight. I shall die a knight," he stated.  
He threw his helm and cloak to the ground, continuing to take off his gold Kingsguard ensemble. "A naked knight, apparently," Lord Baelish snickered.  
This brought a laugh from the crowd. Emmelyne shook her head slightly. Suddenly, Barristan drew his sword. The Kingsguard men did the same, waiting for him to step out line. "Even now I could cut through the five of you like carving a cake!" Barristan roared.  
He threw his sword to the ground, and Emmelyne noticed Joffrey flinch as the steel rang out against the stone. "Here, boy! Melt it down and add it to the others," Barristan concluded.  
He turned, leaving the throne room. The tension was so thick that it could've been sliced with a blade. Emmelyne bit her lip.


	16. Chapter Fifteen: Father

After Ser Barristan's dramatic exit, the calmness in the throne room restored. Everyone began whispering. A steward looked at Cersei, then began speaking. "If any man in this hall has other matters to set before His Grace, let him speak now, or go forth and hold his silence."  
Sansa paused. "Your Grace," she said.  
"Sansa," Emmelyne hissed.  
Joffrey smiled. "Come forward, my lady," he said.  
Sansa stepped forward, Emmelyne watching her carefully. R'hllor stiffened, growling. The steward spoke again. "The Lady Sansa of House Stark," he introduced.  
Once Sansa reached the front of the room, Cersei looked at her. "Do you have some business for the king and the council, Sansa?" she asked.  
"I do," Sansa answered.  
She lowered to her knees. "As it please Your Grace, I ask mercy for my father, Lord Eddard Stark, who was Hand of the King."  
Pycelle stiffened. "Treason is a noxious weed. It should be torn out root- -" he began.  
"Let her speak. I want to hear what she says," Joffrey stated.  
"Thank you, Your Grace," Sansa smiled.  
"Do you deny your father's crime?" Lord Baelish questioned.  
"No, my lords. I know that he must be punished. All I ask is mercy. I know my lord father must regret what he did. He was King Robert's friend and he loved him. You all know he loved him. He never wanted to be Hand until the king asked him. They must have lied to him- - Lord Renly or Lord Stannis, or somebody. They must have lied!" Sansa urged, her voice faltering, close to tears.  
"He said I wasn't the king. Why did he say that?" Joffrey questioned.  
"He was badly hurt. Maester Pycelle was giving him milk of the poppy. He wasn't himself. Otherwise, he never would have said it."  
"A child's faith," said Varys. "Such sweet innocence. And yet they say wisdom oft comes from the mouths of babes."  
"Treason is treason!" Pycelle cried.  
Joffrey stared at Sansa. "Anything else?" he questioned.  
She nodded slowly. "If you still have any affection in your heart for me, please do this for me, Your Grace."  
Emmelyne slowly stepped forward. "May I come to my sister's aid?" she asked, not looking at Joffrey as she did so.  
"Yes," he answered.  
"The Lady Emmelyne of House Stark," the steward added.  
She moved to Sansa's side, kneeling as well. "I beg of you, Your Grace, to grant my father mercy, as well. Send him back to Winterfell if you must. Let him live, and let him return home. Perhaps if he is back with the rest of our family, he will not cause any problems," she offered.  
Joffrey thought for a moment. "Your sweet words have moved me. But your father has to confess. He has to confess and say that I'm the king... or there'll be no mercy for him," Joffrey said, his voice stern and cold.  
"He will," Sansa agreed.  
Emmelyne looked up at Joffrey, managing a smile.  
It was the day of Ned's trial. Bells rang loudly, calling everyone to the Sept of Baelor, to see what Joffrey decided to do with the traitor. Already the was a large crowd, muttering with anticipation. They had begun to grow restless, and the people who come early began a rousing shout. And then Ned was being dragged before the crowd. Now everyone was shouting. Arya was there, clinging to the statue of Baelor that stood before the Sept. She stared at Ned, confused. Emmelyne was stood between Sansa and Cersei, holding Sansa's hand as tightly as she could. Two men led Ned up the steps. "Treason!" a woman in the crowd roared.  
Sansa was smiling. Lord Baelish stood to the side, a smirk on his face. The men let go of Ned, and they moved away from him. "I am Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Hand of the King," Ned was saying.  
He looked at Sansa, who nodded, urging to him to keep speaking. "I come before you to confess my treason in the sight of gods and men. I betrayed the faith of my king and the trust of my friend Robert. I swore to protect and defend his children, but before his blood was cold I plotted to murder his son... and seize the throne for myself," he continued.  
The crowd roared with anger. Someone threw a rock, hitting Eddard in the head. Sansa gasped, and Emmelyne flinched. Eddard hit the ground. The Hound took a step forward, helping Ned to his feet. "Let the High Septon and Baelor the Blessed bear witness to what I say: Joffrey Baratheon is the one true heir to the iron throne, by the grace of all the gods, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm," Eddard said.  
Emmelyne was shaking slightly with anxiety. She noticed Joffrey send a smile to Cersei. "As we sin, so do we suffer. This man has confessed his crimes in sight of gods and men. The gods are just but beloved Baelor taught us they can also be merciful. What is to be done with this traitor, your grace?" Pycelle asked Joffrey.  
The crowd began jeering loudly. Joffrey smiled, raising a hand to silence them. "My mother wishes me to let Lord Eddard Stark join the Night's Watch. Stripped of all titles and powers, he would serve the realm in permanent exile. My lady Sansa has begged mercy for Eddard. And the lady Emmelyne wishes for him to be sent back to Winterfell. But they have the soft hearts of women. So long as I am your king, treason shall never go unpunished. Ser Ilyn, bring me his head!" he commanded.  
Emmelyne started screaming. She tried to run forward, but the Hound took her shoulders. Sansa was shouting, pleading. The Hound pulled Emmelyne against his chest, his grip tight. "No! Please!" Emmelyne cried.  
The Hound turned her away from Ned, staring into her eyes. He didn't speak. Emmelyne collapsed against his chest, sobbing. She heard Sansa shouting. "Daddy! Someone please stop him!"  
When Emmelyne looked at her, she saw that Sansa was being held back by a Kingsguard. "Joffrey, please! Please! You promised mercy!" Emmelyne cried, fighting against the Hound's grip.  
Cersei took Joffrey's arm tightly. "My son, this is madness," she stated.  
"Put him down!" Janos Slynt commanded.  
Two Kingsguard stepped forward, forcing Eddard to his knees. Ned looked around. His frantic gaze reminded Emmelyne of an animal being sent to the slaughter; he knew something horrible was going to happen, but it was almost as if he wasn't sure what. Through her tears Emmelyne began whispering to herself. "R'hllor, I beg of you. Please cast a mercy on my father. I do not know how you will do it, but let him live," she pleaded.  
"No God can save him now," the Hound told her stiffly.  
Ilyn Payne pulled on his black executioner's hood. "Stop! Daddy!" Sansa screamed.  
Ilyn was drawing a sword. Emmelyne looked at Joffrey, rage and anguish burning in her gray eyes. "Burn in hell! I pray that R'hllor grants you a slow and painful death!" she shouted.  
"Stop! No! No!" Sansa cried.  
"Traitor!" the crowd roared.  
Cersei stood with her head bowed, her hands folded together. "Stop him, stop!" Sansa begged.  
Emmelyne threw herself toward her father, but the Hound's grip was too tight. "Joffrey, stop!" she heard Sansa saying.  
Sansa's cries seemed to fade away. Emmelyne tottered on her feet, her head fuzzy. She felt herself falling backward, almost as if she had fainted. But she still saw. The Hound straightened her slightly on her feet, but he allowed her to lean heavily against him.  
Ilyn raised the sword. And then he brought it down. The only sound Emmelyne heard was the whoosh of air as the steel came crashing down, followed by the clanging of the sword on the rocks. A flock of birds who had perched themselves on the bell tower flew away, their wings rustling against the air. Blood coated Ilyn's blade. The crowd roared with joy as Ilyn lifted Eddard's head high, showing it for all the world to see. Two Kingsguard dragged Ned's body away. Emmelyne saw Sansa faint, and the man holding her let her hit the ground. The Hound turned Emmelyne toward him, a sad look in his eyes. Her tears were drained, and exhaustion overwhelmed her. "Father..." she breathed out.  
She fell against his chest, and her vision went black.


	17. Chapter Sixteen: Suffer

The days following Ned's execution were horrible. The news spread quickly around Westeros. To Catelyn, and Bran, and Robb, Rickon, and even to Jon at the Wall. Emmelyne barely slept; and if she did sleep it took hours of crying to drain her energy. She knew Sansa wasn't fairing any better. R'hllor tried his best to ease his master's suffering, offering her licks and sleeping with her at night. She had stopped bringing him to the gardens, leaving that job to her handmaidens. The night after Eddard's execution, Emmelyne had awoken in her room. In a blind rage she had torn apart her chambers, shattering the jeweled cane and cursing every god she knew for letting Joffrey do what he had done.  
She had been called to the throne room one day. She'd begged and pleaded the steward who summoned her to allow her to remain locked in her chambers, but he wouldn't listen. So, she found herself in the throne room, listening to a singer. His song was about King Robert, the lyrics a mockery of his death. "The boar's great tusks, they boded ill for good King Robert's health. And the beast was every bit as fat as Robert was himself. But our brave king cried 'do your worst! I'll have your ugly head! You're nowhere near as murd'rous as the lion in my bed.' King Robert lost his battle and he failed his final test. The lion ripped his balls off, and the boar did all the rest."  
Scattered murmurs washed over the crowd. Clearly, they had not appreciated the song. Joffrey began clapping from his seat on the throne, and everyone diverted their attention to him. They began to clap as well, fearing the consequences of what would happen if they did not. "Very amusing," Joffrey said when he stopped clapping. "Isn't it a funny song?" he questioned the crowd.  
No one answered. "Thank you for your rendition. I imagine it was even better received at that tavern," Joffrey stated.  
Now the singer knew he was mocking. The singer got to his feet. "I'm so sorry, Your Grace. I'll never sing it again, I swear."  
"Tell me, which do you favor: your fingers or your tongue?"  
"Your Grace?"  
"Fingers or your tongue? If you got to keep one, which would it be?"  
The singer hesitated. "I- - I- -" he stuttered.  
"Or I could just cut your throat," Joffrey shrugged.  
"Every man needs hands, Your Grace," the singer stammered out.  
"Good," Joffrey smiled. "Tongue it is."  
"Your Grace, please," the singer begged.  
A Kingsguard began walking toward him. "I won't sing," the singer stated. "Your Grace."  
Two Kingsguard took his arms, holding him still. Joffrey seemed bored. "Ser Ilyn," he said. "Who better than you to carry out the sentence?"  
It was almost ironic; Ilyn had his tongue cut out by the Mad King, and now Ilyn would be cutting out this singer's tongue. "I beg you! Please no," the singer said.  
The singer continued shouting, begging Joffrey for mercy. Ilyn produced a knife and a pair of pincers from his belt. He moved to the fire roaring in one of the braziers, starting to heat the blade and pincers. "Your Grace, please. I beg you, I will never sing again!" the poor man cried.  
"I'm done for the day," Joffrey stated.  
He stood from the throne. "No!" the singer screamed.  
Joffrey took of his crown, looking to Cersei. "I'll leave the rest of the matters to you, Mother."  
He handed the crown to the Hound, starting to walk out of the room, the singer's screams of terror echoing behind him. As he passed the Stark sisters, he looked at each of them in turn, smiling. "You both look quite nice," he said.  
"Thank you, my lord," Sansa said softly.  
"'Your Grace.' I'm king now," Joffrey reminded.  
"Stop! No!" the singer screamed.  
Emmelyne watched Ilyn, walking toward the man. "Walk with me. I want to show you girls something," Joffrey stated, bringing her out of her daze.  
As Joffrey began walking again, Ilyn sliced the singer's tongue from his throat. Emmelyne watched his blood spatter the floor. Sansa had begun following Joffrey, but Emmelyne remained. Until the Hound stepped up to her, taking her arm. "Do as you're bid, girl," he said.  
She nodded, her movements jerking and erratic. She turned, following Joffrey and Sansa, the rest of the Kingsguard close behind her.  
They walked along the corridors of the castle, Joffrey speaking to Sansa as they did so. Emmelyne wasn't paying attention, but she heard him saying, "and as soon as you've had your blood, I'll put a son in you. Mother says that shouldn't be long."  
Joffrey had decided to keep up his marriage to Sansa, and not Emmelyne. They seemed to reach their destination, as Joffrey stopped. The others did as well. Emmelyne looked up, her eyes falling on a horrid sight. Sansa saw at the same time she did. "No, please, no!" Sansa screamed.  
It was the severed heads of many people. Sansa looked away, starting to run. But Meryn Trant held her tight, keeping her in place. Emmelyne looked upon the heads, shuddering breaths escaping her. "This one's your father," Joffrey said, pointing.  
He walked out along the thin bridge, smiling. "This one here," he added.  
"Please, Your Grace. Allow Sansa to go. She shouldn't see this," Emmelyne said.  
Joffrey turned to face the girls. "No," he stated. "Both of you look at it and see what happens to traitors."  
"You promised to be merciful," Sansa whimpered.  
"I was. I gave him a clean death," Joffrey shrugged.  
He eyed Sansa the way a wolf eyed it's prey. "Look at him," he commanded.  
"Please let us go home. We won't do any treason, I swear," Sansa said.  
"Mother says I'm still to marry you. So you'll stay here, and obey. And if you're here, then Emmelyne will stay. And you'll both obey," Joffrey stated.  
Sansa still didn't make any indication to look at the heads. This seemed to anger Joffrey. "Look at him!" he roared.  
And so she did, her blue eyes clouded over and red from the crying. Emmelyne assumed that her gray eyes looked the same. Ned's head was stuck onto a long stick, blood caking around it. His long hair waved in the slight breeze, and flies buzzed about the decaying skin. "Well?" Joffrey asked.  
"How long do I have to look?" Sansa replied.  
Joffrey looked at her like she was the most stupid person he had ever met. "As long as it pleases me. Do you want to see the rest?"  
"If it please, Your Grace," Sansa said stiffly.  
Joffrey pointed at another head. The head of an old woman, her hair hidden beneath a blue scarf. "That's your septa there. I'll tell you what. I'm gonna give you girls a present. After I raise my armies and kill your traitor brother, I'm going to give you both his head as well."  
Emmelyne regretted what she said the moment the words left her lips. "Or maybe he'll give us yours."  
Joffrey stepped forward, and Emmelyne locked her gaze on him. "My mother tells me a king should never strike a woman. And you are the sister of my lady," Joffrey said.  
He looked to Meryn. "Ser Meryn," he stated.  
Meryn took Emmelyne's arm, pulling her toward him. She tried to push him away, struggling in his grip, but he reared back, slapping her hard across the face. Once. Twice. And a third time, just for fighting him. Sansa's eyes widened, and she gasped softly.  
"I'm alright," Emmelyne whispered to her.  
Her gaze drifted downward. Joffrey stood on a thin bridge, and the fall was quite far. If she could just push him over, that would solve a lot of problems. She took a few steps forward, a dark look in her eyes. Joffrey whirled around to look at her, confused. But the Hound knew what she was thinking. He took her shoulder, his grip tight and slightly painful. "Here, girl," he said.  
She turned to face him, and he wiped away a spot of blood from her lip with a rag. She hadn't even known it was there. Joffrey stepped to Emmelyne's side. "Will you both obey now? Or does Sansa perhaps need a lesson to get the message through?" he questioned.  
Emmelyne didn't answer. The Hound handed her the rag, and she dabbed at the cut on her lip. Joffrey started walking away. "I'll look for you girls in court," he said.  
He walked away with the Kingsguard, but the Hound remained. "I warned you, girl. That day in the garden. Save yourself some pain and do what he wants," he told her.  
She nodded slightly, offering him the rag. He shook his head. "You'll be needing that again," he said.  
He walked off after Joffrey, leaving the Stark girls. Emmelyne took her sister by the arm. "Let's go," she whispered.


	18. Chapter Seventeen: A Contemplation

It was Joffrey's sixteenth nameday. He had decided to hold a small tournament; men fighting on the walls, whoever fell off, lost. The Hound was fighting, a mace in his hand. He slammed the sharp points into his competitor's shield, and then once his guard was down the Hound managed a hard hit to the head. The man stood his ground however, swinging his weapon. But the Hound managed to avoid it. He knocked the man's shield out of his hand, swinging the mace and sending him toppling over the wall. The man hit the ground, defeated. The crowd cheered. Joffrey stepped up to the edge of his seating area, looking down at the dead competitor. "Well struck," he grinned. "Well struck, dog."  
The Hound took off his helm, nodding stiffly in response. Joffrey turned to face Sansa and Emmelyne. "Did you like that?" he questioned.  
"It was well struck, Your Grace," Sansa replied.  
"I already said it was well struck."  
"Yes, Your Grace."  
Joffrey glared at Sansa as she looked away from him. He diverted his attention to Emmelyne. "What did you think? And please don't be a mimic," he stated.  
"I'm the glad that you have such a strong man to protect you, Your Grace," Emmelyne answered.  
He nodded. "Yes," he agreed. "My dog is rather strong."  
Two men dragged the body away, and now it was time for the next people to compete. "Who's next?" Joffrey questioned.  
A herald answered. "Lothor Brune, freerider in the service of Lord Baelish. Ser Dontos the Red of House Hollard," he introduced, waving a hand to summon each man forward.  
Lothor stepped out, but Dontos did not. "Ser Dontos the Red of House Hollard!" the herald repeated.  
"Here I am. Here I am," Dontos slurred out.  
He stumbled down the steps, his armor barely on and his double-ended spear clattering against the stone. As he came before Joffrey, his helm fell from his arms, and clanging metal echoed in Emmelyne's ears. As he hurried to pick it up, his foot hit it, and it rolled further away. He managed to pick it up, stuffing it on his head. Dontos was a short, round man. He was balding, with brown hair and long mustache. "Sorry, Your Grace. My deepest apologies," he said.  
"Are you drunk?" Joffrey questioned.  
"No. Uh, no. No, Your Grace. I had two cups of wine," Dontos lied.  
"Two cups? That's not much at all. Please, have another cup," Joffrey welcomed.  
"Are you sure, Your Grace?" Dontos asked.  
"Yes. To celebrate my nameday. Have two. Have as much as you like."  
"I would be honored, Your Grace."  
Dontos smiled, bowing his head respectfully. Joffrey looked to Meryn. "Ser Meryn," he said. "Help Ser Dontos celebrate my nameday. See that he drinks his fill."  
Dontos continued smiling stupidly. Meryn stood, landing the man harsh blow to the chest. The crowd gasped. Meryn and two other Kingsguard led Dontos to the casks of wine. Meryn took a horn, putting it in Dontos's mouth as another Kingsguard picked up a cask. Emmelyne realized quickly that they were going to literally drown Dontos in wine. They began pouring wine down the horn, Dontos choking and gasping as they did. "You can't," Sansa stated, her blue eyes wide.  
Joffrey's gaze locked on her. "What did you say?" he demanded. "Did you say I can't?"  
Sansa slowly turned to face him. "I only meant it would be bad luck to kill a man on your nameday," she offered.  
"Yes, Your Grace. Your year goes badly if you kill a man on your nameday," Emmelyne nodded, trying to help Sansa.  
Joffrey furrowed his eyebrows. "What kind of stupid peasant's superstition..." he began.  
"The girls are right," the Hound interrupted. "What a man sows on his nameday, he reaps all year."  
Joffrey sighed. "Take him away. I'll have him killed tomorrow, the fool."  
The Kingsguard stopped, and Dontos fell forward, retching. From his mouth came a spray of vomit and wine. Emmelyne bit down on her lip. "He is," Sansa said to Joffrey. "A fool- - you're so clever to see it. He'll make a much better fool than a knight. He doesn't deserve the mercy of a quick death."  
Joffrey pondered this, looking at Dontos. "Did you hear my lady, Ser Dontos? From this day, you'll be my new fool," he said, smirking.  
"Thank you, Your Grace. And you, my lady, thank you," Dontos said.  
The Kingsguard took him by the shoulders, leading him away. "Beloved nephew," a familiar voice suddenly said.  
Everyone turned in their seats, completely surprised as Tyrion Lannister stepped up. He was followed by a man, with short dark hair and a beard, as well as a group of large men that looked like they could kill everyone without a second thought. "We looked for you on the battlefield," Tyrion said. "You were nowhere to be found."  
Tyrion stopped walking, picking up a glass and a pitcher of wine. "I've been here ruling the Kingdoms," Joffrey stated in response.  
"What a fine job you've done."  
Tyrion's eyes landed on Myrcella, and he smiled at his niece happily. "Look at you," he said, and he kissed her on the cheek. "More beautiful than ever."  
He looked to Tommen next. "And you! You- - you're going to be bigger than the Hound, but much better looking," he chuckled.  
The Hound shot him a glare at that. "This one doesn't like me," Tyrion told his dark-haired companion.  
"Can't imagine why," the man shrugged in response.  
"We heard you were dead," Joffrey stated.  
"I'm glad you're not dead," Myrcella added.  
"Me, too, dear. Death is so boring, especially now with so much excitement in the world," Tyrion replied, taking a drink of his wine.  
He looked at Emmelyne and Sansa, his smile fading. "My ladies, I'm so sorry for your loss," he offered.  
"Thank you," Emmelyne murmured.  
Joffrey looked at Tyrion, glaring. "Their loss? Their father was a confessed traitor," he snapped.  
"But still their father. Surely having so recently lost your own beloved father you can sympathize."  
Joffrey turned to face Emmelyne and Sansa. Emmelyne bowed her head, but Sansa spoke. "Our father was a traitor. Our mother and brother are traitors, too. I am loyal to my beloved Joffrey."  
"Of course you are."  
He took another drink of wine, diverting his attention back to Joffrey. "Well, enjoy your nameday, Your Grace. Wish I could stay and celebrate, but there is work to be done."  
He began walking into the castle. Joffrey turned around in his seat to face him. "What work? Why are you here?" he demanded.  
The dark-haired man followed Tyrion closely, and so did the group of men.  
Darkness had fallen over King's Landing. Emmelyne stood in her room, looking out through her window. The sky was black, save a streaking red comet. She'd heard theories on what it meant. Some said that it was the color of blood, for her father. She figured that these people were trying to comfort her. The second was that it was Lannister red, and that Lannisters would rule the Seven Kingdoms very soon. She believed that the most. Emmelyne tapped her fingers anxiously on the window sill, craning her neck to see further. Her gaze drifted downward. The drop was rather far. Perhaps if she just leaned out a bit further, she would fall. That would save her from Joffrey's torture. She adjusted herself, looking up to see if the window was tall enough. She supposed it would work for her small, short frame. With a little bit of difficulty, she climbed up onto the window sill. She used her arms to brace herself against the sides of the window. The skirt of her nightdress fluttered in the wind, as did her hair. Her legs were shaking. R'hllor sat up from the floor, barking at her. A voice began to whisper. "No, sweet child. Your time has not yet come. There's still work for you to do."  
She recognized the voice, one she'd heard many years ago. And she answered it. "What work do I have left, Vyreo?"  
"That I cannot say."  
She bit her lip, tears stinging her eyes as she slowly climbed down from her perch. "Alright. I won't do it," she whispered.  
Instead, she returned to her bed, curling herself into tight ball. As her tears began to fall, she drifted asleep.


	19. Chapter Eighteen: The Extent of Cruelty

Emmelyne, Sansa, Cersei, Tommen, and Myrcella barely spoke as they ate supper. Sansa picked at her food, while Emmelyne sipped from a cup of wine. Suddenly, Myrcella spoke up. "When will Joffrey and Sansa be married?" she questioned Cersei.  
Sansa straightened, her eyes widening. Emmelyne went stiff in her seat. Cersei smiled at her daughter. "Soon, darling, when the war is over."  
Myrcella turned to Sansa, grinning. "Mother says I'll have a new gown for the ceremony and another for the feast. But yours will be ivory since you're the bride."  
Sansa did not know to answer. Cersei turned to her. "The princess just spoke to you."  
"Pardon, Your Grace," Sansa said.  
She looked at Myrcella. "I'm sure your dress will be beautiful, Myrcella. I'm counting the days until the fighting is done and I can pledge my love to the king in sight of the Gods."  
"Is Joffrey going to kill Sansa and Emmelyne's brother?" Tommen questioned.  
Emmelyne and Sansa looked at Cersei, waiting for her to respond. Cersei shrugged. "He might. Would you like that?"  
Sansa took a long drink of wine. "No. I don't think so," Tommen said to his mother.  
Cersei leaned forward, glancing at the Stark sisters. "Even if he does, Sansa will do her duty. Won't you, little dove?"  
Sansa didn't speak. She looked away from Cersei.  
That night, Emmelyne found herself staring through her window once more. R'hllor lie in the corner of her room, sleeping. A knock sounded at the door. Emmelyne didn't move. "Come in," she said.  
The door opened, and now she turned. Before her stood a woman, with long, black hair. She was quite pretty, though her brown eyes held mischief. "Who are you?" Emmelyne questioned.  
"Shae, my lady. Your new handmaiden," the woman responded.  
Her accent was foreign, though not from a place that Emmelyne could label. She looked Shae over, chuckling. "Tyrion has put you up to this?" she questioned.  
Shae's face showed confusion. "How do you know that?"  
"The Lord of Light knows all. Don't worry, Shae. I can keep your secret."  
Shae nodded slightly. "Thank you, my lady."  
Emmelyne took a few steps toward her. "Do you know what jobs a handmaiden must do?"  
"No," Shae admitted.  
"There are very many jobs. You must change my linens, wash my clothes, scrub the floor, empty my chamber pot, brush my hair. I can take care of most of those things, however."  
"Alright," Shae said.  
"Really the only job you have to do daily is taking my direwolf to the gardens. His name is R'hllor, and he'll come if you call him."  
"What should I do now?" Shae questioned.  
Emmelyne smiled a bit. "Everything is done for the day. If you please, you can go."  
Shae smiled in response. "Thank you."  
She turned, leaving the room quietly.  
Joffrey sat on the throne, crossbow in his hands, aimed at Emmelyne. "You're here to answer for your brother's latest treasons," he stated.  
"Your Grace," Sansa spoke up from beside Emmelyne. "Whatever our traitor brother has done, we had no part. You know that. I beg you, don't hurt- -" she began.  
"Ser Lancel, tell the Stark girls of this outrage," Joffrey commanded.  
Lancel, a Lannister cousin, stepped forward. Had Emmelyne not have known better, she would have assumed that Lancel was a woman. With his long blonde hair and wide blue eyes, he certainly didn't posses the rugged handsomeness most Lannister men held. "Using some vile sorcery," he said, "your brother fell on Stafford Lannister with an army of wolves. Thousands of good men were butchered. After the slaughter, the Northmen feasted on the flesh of the slain."  
A gasp went over the crowd. Joffrey adjusted the crossbow, smirking slightly at Emmelyne. "Killing one of you would send your brother a message."  
"Please, Your Grace, don't hurt her," Sansa begged.  
Emmelyne looked at her. "It's alright, Sansa," she tried to comfort.  
Joffrey sighed, lowering the crossbow. "My mother insists on keeping you both alive. Stand," he instructed Emmelyne.  
She did as told, trying to hold back the tears welling in her eyes. "So we'll have to send your brother a message some other way. Meryn," Joffrey stated.  
Sansa's eyes widened, and Emmelyne quickly realized what was happening. Meryn took a few steps toward Emmelyne, who backed away in turn. "Leave her face," Joffrey said. "I like her pretty."  
Meryn grabbed Emmelyne's shoulder. She twisted in his grip, trying to free herself to no avail. He landed a harsh blow to her stomach. The people in the room gasped, but Emmelyne made no sound as she crumbled toward the floor. "Em!" Sansa cried.  
Emmelyne managed to stumble to her feet, backing toward the wall. Meryn didn't speak as he managed a hard hit to her side. She cried out, hitting the ground. "Meryn, I think Lady Emmelyne is overdressed. Unburden her," Joffrey commanded.  
"No, please!" Emmelyne begged.  
Meryn did as Joffrey said, tearing her red dress down the back. She scrambled to keep the fabric from falling away, pressing it to her chest. Now she was crying. "If you want Robb Stark to hear us, we're going to have to speak louder," Joffrey stated, his voice masking Emmelyne's whimpers.  
Meryn drew his sword. He started to swing it at Emmelyne, who let out a scream. "What is the meaning of this?" Tyrion's voice suddenly demanded.  
Everyone in throne room went silent as they turned to face the new Hand of the King. Meryn put his sword back in place, walking away. Sansa hurried to Emmelyne's side. "What kind of knight beats a helpless girl?" Tyrion hissed at Meryn.  
"The kind who serves his king, Imp," Meryn retorted.  
"Careful, now. We don't want to get blood all over your pretty white cloak," Tyrion's dark-haired friend, who everyone knew to be named Bronn, stated.  
Tyrion looked at Emmelyne. "Someone get the girl something to cover herself with."  
He looked up at Joffrey. "She is the sister of the girl you're going to marry. Have you no regard for her honor?" he demanded.  
The Hound stepped forward, taking off his cloak. "I'm punishing her," Joffrey said.  
"For what crimes? She did not fight her brother's battle, you half-wit," Tyrion replied.  
Emmelyne managed a weak smile at the Hound as he draped the cloak over her shoulders. She pulled it tighter around herself. "You can't talk to me like that. The king can do as he likes!" Joffrey cried.  
"The Mad King did as he liked. Has your Uncle Jaime ever told you what happened to him?" Tyrion questioned.  
"No one threatens His Grace in the presence of the Kingsguard," Meryn stated.  
"I'm not threatening the king, ser. I'm educating my nephew. Bronn, the next time Ser Meryn speaks, kill him. That was a threat. See the difference?"  
Tyrion stepped down from the stairs leading up to the throne. He made his way to the Stark sisters, offering a hand to Emmelyne. She took it, slowly standing. Sansa stood as well. Joffrey rose from the throne, watching his uncle as he began to walk Sansa and Emmelyne out of the throne room. "I apologize for my nephew's behavior," Tyrion said to Emmelyne.  
He looked to Sansa now. "Tell me the truth. Do you want an end to this engagement?" he asked her.  
"I am loyal to King Joffrey, my one true love," Sansa replied stiffly.  
She took Emmelyne by the shoulder, and the two walked ahead of Tyrion. They were the first people to leave the room.


	20. Chapter Nineteen: Those Below

Princess Myrcella was being sent away to Dorne for a marriage alliance. The entire royal family, along with the Kingsguard and the Stark sisters was in attendance. At the bank of the shore, a septon granted Myrcella safe travels. Myrcella smiled sadly at her family, crying and waving. Tommen was in tears. Emmelyne was almost sad to see the princess go. She'd become accustomed to Myrcella's unwavering kindness in this awful world. "One day I pray you love someone," Cersei said to Tyrion. "I pray you love her so much, when you close your eyes, you see her face. I want that for you. I want you to know what it's like to love someone, to truly love someone, before I take her from you."  
Tyrion cast a glare at his elder sister, turning away and walking further away from her. Tommen sniffled, his head in his hands. His septa lowered, wiping away his tears. "You sound like a little cat mewling for his mother," Joffrey told his brother. "Princes don't cry."  
"I saw you cry," Sansa said quietly.  
Joffrey spun around to face her. "Did you say something, my lady?"  
Sansa hesitated. "My little brother cried when Emmelyne and I left Winterfell."  
"So?"  
"It seems a normal thing."  
"Is your little brother a prince?"  
"No."  
"Not really relevant, then, is it?"  
He stepped away from the Stark sisters, walking off. "Come, dog," he told the Hound.  
Emmelyne noticed the Hound wrinkle his nose at the boy king as he followed. Myrcella's boat faded away, and everyone began walking away. Emmelyne looked around at the Flea Bottom inhabitants. They eyed the nobles with hungry looks. "Hail, Joffrey!" someone shouted.  
"Hail to the king."  
Laughter chorused amongst a group of men. "Seven blessings on you, Your Grace," a man said to Joffrey as they passed.  
"Murderer! Bastard!" another cried.  
The people began to squabble amongst themselves, trying to decide if Joffrey was bastard or king. They all laughed a jeered. "Please, Your Grace, we're hungry," a man said.  
This shout joined the crowd. Tyrion passed in the sight of the people now. "Freak!"  
"Imp!"  
Tyrion quickly turned to the septa with Tommen. "Get the prince back to the keep now," he commanded.  
"Yes, my lord," a Lannister soldier agreed.  
He began leading the septa and Tommen. A few people noticed Emmelyne. "Demon!" one cried.  
"Whore!" another added.  
Emmelyne self-consciously adjusted her low-cut dress. The shouts for food became deafening. The Kingsguard and Lannister soldiers had begun to line the road, trying to keep people away from the royal party. Suddenly, Emmelyne saw something brown fly through the sky. It hit Joffrey hard in the face, and the strong smell of cow shit filled the air. Joffrey stumbled on his feet. In seconds the knights and the Hound drew their swords. "Who threw that? I want the man who threw that," Joffrey stated.  
Emmelyne, Sansa, and a group of handmaidens stumbled back as a City Watch man took a peasant to the ground. "Find the man who did that and bring him to me!" Joffrey roared.  
"Hold them back!" someone shouted.  
The peasants surged forward, slamming against the men like a tidal wave. "Just kill them! Kill them all!" Joffrey commanded.  
The peasants had begun to fight back. Emmelyne took Sansa's arm tightly. "Be prepared to run. Don't separate from the group," she stated.  
Sansa nodded furiously in response. "Move! Move!" Tyrion urged the knights escorting Cersei.  
"Tear him to pieces!" a man's voice cried.  
"What are you doing? I want these people executed!" Joffrey shouted as the Hound began to navigate him through the people.  
"And they want the same for you," the Hound said back.  
Sansa, Emmelyne, and the two handmaidens latched onto each other, inching along little by little. All around people were dying. Emmelyne saw the septon get surrounded. They closed in on him like flies to a bit of rotten meat. He went down screaming, the most horrible sound Emmelyne had ever heard. She hadn't thought a man could produce such a sound. "Hurry!" a handmaiden cried.  
A gap had formed amongst the frenzy, and the group of women took advantage of it quickly. The sound of tearing flesh echoed in Emmelyne's ears as the septon's scream settled into nothing. One man raised the septon's arm high, cheering and grinning. A cheer rose up from the people around him. Emmelyne made the quick assumption that they would eat the septon's corpse. The woman kept pressing forward, people grabbing at them. Emmelyne felt someone grab her arm, wrenching her toward him. "You got a nice pair of tits on you, Demon. How about you and me take a tumble in an alley somewhere?" he said, grinning at her with yellow teeth.  
"Let me be!" she screamed, ripping herself out of his grip.  
She watched in horror as three men grabbed a handmaiden, dragging her by the hair and the shoulders into the writhing mass of people. The other handmaiden screamed as loud as she could, but she got taken quickly as well.  
Sansa suddenly turned, breaking into a run. "Sansa!" Emmelyne cried after her.  
When the younger girl made no indication of stopping, Emmelyne followed her quickly. They caught up to each other, and Emmelyne took Sansa tightly by the wrist. They started to round a corner, but came face-to-face with a man. They turned, hoping to go the other way. Another man barred their path, smiling as he took Emmelyne's necklace. "Worth a fair bit of money, if I do say so myself."  
"Alleyway!" Emmelyne urged.  
They turned into an alley, sprinting away from the group of men that now pursued them. "Hey!" Emmelyne heard one of them laugh.  
The girls tried their hardest to get away, but one man gained on them quickly. Sansa spun around, slapping him hard across the face. The man retaliated, sending Sansa to the ground. Emmelyne dropped down beside her sister. The other men rushed into the alley. Sansa tried to drag herself away, but one man grabbed her by the legs. "Where are you going?" he questioned mockingly.  
He tore her skirts down the back, and the other man did the same to Emmelyne. They forced the girls to the ground. Emmelyne felt her forehead collide with the stone, and pain shot through her. She felt blood. The man who had Emmelyne leaned close, whispering in her ear. "You ever been fucked, Demon?" he asked.  
"No, no, please!" Emmelyne screamed.  
He pulled her against him as she fought and screamed. "Come here," he stated.  
Sansa, in turn, struggled against the man who held her. "Fight, Sansa! You can leave me!" Emmelyne shouted.  
"No!" Sansa cried.  
Two men pinned Emmelyne's arms, keeping her firmly in place. "You like dressing like a whore so much," one said to her. "We should see if you fuck like one."  
Sansa struggled to kick the man holding her, but managed a hard his to her face."Please, no! Don't hurt her! You can have me! Let her go!" Emmelyne pleaded.  
"No," one of them chuckled. "We've got two of you noble girls. I think we'll break you both in nice and good."  
They kept dragging the Stark sisters along. Finally, it seemed like they'd reached their destination. The man who'd called Emmelyne 'Demon' twisted her roughly so she lied on her back. "Please, no! Don't!" Emmelyne screamed.  
"Stop!" Sansa begged.  
It only took two men to keep Sansa in place, but Emmelyne's thrashing clearly aggravated them. "Keep her down!" the man who'd called her 'Demon' urged.  
He began to take off his pants, keeping himself between her legs. "No! No! Please, no! Stop!" she pleaded.  
Suddenly, an armored glove grabbed the man by the throat. Emmelyne managed to see that it was the Hound. He began choking the would-be rapist, lifting him off the ground. There was a tearing of flesh as he stabbed the man, ripping him open down the middle. Entrails dangled at the Hound's feet. The Hound dropped his corpse, quickly stabbing another man at the base of his neck. The man that remained holding Sansa tried to run. "Please!" he screamed.  
The Hound finished him quickly, slitting his throat. He turned to the Stark sisters.  
"You're all right now, girls. You're all right," he said.  
"One of them took my necklace," Emmelyne managed to say.  
The Hound lowered, digging the collar from the pocket of one of the fallen men. "Got it," he said.  
Emmelyne nodded weakly. Sandor leaned forward, helping Sansa to her feet, then Emmelyne. "Are you fit to walk, little bird?" he asked Sansa, who nodded slowly.  
"What about you, fierce one?" he questioned.  
"I don't know," Emmelyne whispered.  
Her legs were shaking madly, and she knew that if she tried to walk she'd surely fall. He took her by the waist, slinging her over his shoulder. "Keep close to me," he told Sansa. "Hold onto my arm."  
They left the alleyway in silence, tears falling down Emmelyne's cheeks onto Sandor's armor.  
Once they managed to get back to the castle safely, Tyrion hurried toward them. Sandor carefully set Emmelyne down, allowing to lean herself against a wall. He handed back her necklace, offering her a smile as she clasped it around her neck. Sansa sank down the wall beside her sister. "Are either you hurt, my ladies?" Tyrion questioned.  
"The little bird's bleeding," Sandor said. "Someone take her back to her cage, see to that cut. The fierce one's shaken. Let her sit for a moment."  
Two handmaidens hurried forward, taking Sansa by the shoulders. They began leading her away. "Well done, Clegane," Tyrion nodded.  
"I didn't do it for you," Sandor replied stiffly.  
He looked at Emmelyne, who stared ahead, her eyes foggy. He took a moment before lowering to her side. "Does your head hurt?" he asked.  
"What?" she whispered.  
She brought a hand to her head, wiping away a spot of blood. "Oh, that," she murmured. "Barely knew it was there."  
He reached out, letting his fingertips brush along the cut. "Make sure Pycelle checks that, fierce one."  
She nodded. "Thank you, Sandor," she said. "Thank you for saving us."  
He hesitated. "You're welcome, fierce one."


	21. Chapter Twenty: Gentle Mother

Emmelyne sat in a chair, shaking. R'hllor lie asleep at her feet. Shae stepped to her side, dabbing at the cut on Emmelyne's head with a cloth.  
Emmelyne winced, biting back any sound that threatened to escape. "You're all right. It's not deep," Shae encouraged her gently.  
"Those men were going to..." Emmelyne went quiet.  
Shae nodded sadly. "They were. They probably thought they'd kill you and Sansa after."  
Emmelyne bit down hard on her lip, which was chapped and dry, tasting blood. "He hurt Sansa," she said. "I begged and pleaded with them to just take me but one of them hit Sansa. They called me Demon. One of them tried to steal my necklace."  
She brought a hand to the ruby as if making sure it was still there. "They wanted to hurt us."  
"Of course they did," Shae replied.  
"Why? Why would strangers want to hurt us?"  
"You girls are everything he will never have. Your direwolf eats better than his children. It does not matter now. He's dead."  
Emmelyne sighed. "I could've given them food if I had it. I hate the king more than any of those men down in Flea Bottom."  
Shae took her tightly by the shoulder, looking her in the eyes. "Don't say those kinds of things. If the wrong people hear you, bad things can happen."  
"But you're not the wrong people. You're kinder, at least to me. I trust you."  
Shae shook her head, stepping away from the eldest Stark sister. "Don't trust anybody. Life is a lot safer that way."  
Emmelyne nodded slowly. She smoothed her skirt, getting to her feet. Her legs were still shaking beneath her, though not as badly as before. "Thank you, Shae," she offered.  
"No," Shae said. "No need to thank me."  
Emmelyne and Sansa walked the halls quietly, Sansa holding tightly onto Emmelyne's arm. As they walked, they passed Sandor. "I beg pardon, Ser," Sansa said. "I should have come to you after to thank you for saving Emmelyne and I. You were so brave."  
Sandor seemed slightly surprised. "Brave? A dog doesn't need courage to chase off rats."  
"Does it give you joy to scare people?" Sansa questioned.  
"No," Sandor said simply. "It gives me joy to kill people."  
He stepped up to the girls, who backed away in turn. "Spare me," he said. "You can't tell me Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell never killed a man."  
"It was his duty. He never liked it," Sansa argued.  
"Is that what he told you? He lied. Killing is the sweetest thing there is."  
"Why are you always so hateful?" Emmelyne questioned.  
"You'll be glad of the hateful things I do someday when your sister is queen and I'm all that stands between her and her beloved king," Sandor answered stiffly.  
Sansa turned, starting to walk away. But Emmelyne did not follow her. "I see darkness around you, Sandor Clegane," she said. "An all-consuming darkness. I think thats why you're hateful."  
She took a step toward him. "Let the light find you. R'hllor will save you from the dark days to come."  
He looked at her, surprise evident in his expression. "After all that you've been through you still worship a god?"  
"I worship my god, Sandor. I worship the Lord of Light. And if this is all happening and I can do nothing to stop it, then it is simply R'hllor's will."  
"Your god is cruel enough to let your father die?"  
Emmelyne bit down on her lip, not answering. "So you see, fierce one. Your god doesn't care about you. None of the gods care about anyone," Sandor stated.  
She didn't speak for a moment. The pair just stared at each other, a deafening silence surrounding them. Finally, Emmelyne responded. "You're right. The gods don't care about what happens to anyone. But R'hllor has answered my prayers twice. Once to fix my necklace, and the other to spare my little brother's life. He will reward those who remain devout to him."  
Sandor nodded slightly. "Then R'hllor is a better god than the others."  
Emmelyne gave a small smile. "Yes, He is."  
She turned away, walking down the hall in the direction Sansa had gone. Sandor watched her leave. "Gods help you, Emmelyne Stark," he said softly to himself.  
 _Emmelyne was surrounded. The men, the ones who had planned to rape her and Sansa, somehow they were alive. One of them drew a dagger, laughing madly. "No, no! Please no!" Emmelyne screamed.  
The man ignored her, stabbing Sansa hard in the chest._  
Emmelyne awoke, jolting up in her bed. "Just a dream," she reassured herself. "Not a vision."  
She heard knocking at her door, and she stumbled to her feet. "Who is it?" she questioned.  
"Me," Shae responded through the wood, her voice frantic.  
The door opened, and Shae looked at Emmelyne. "Sansa's had her blood. Come help me comfort her, quickly," Shae stated.  
Emmelyne nodded, and the two women hurried from the room. As they made their way toward Sansa's room, Emmelyne looked around nervously. "Did anybody else see?" she questioned.  
"No," Shae replied.  
Once they reached the room, Emmelyne was the first to enter. Her eyes went wide as she noted that Sandor stood beside the bed, where Sansa sat, weeping madly. Shae stepped to Emmelyne's side, and a deathly quiet went over the room. Sandor didn't speak, but he gave Sansa an apologetic look. He had to tell the queen.  
It was late in the afternoon. Emmelyne stared out of her window. Stannis Baratheon was close by. He would lay siege to the Red Keep and surely win the battle. Stannis had more ships than the Lannisters and all of their men combined, and he also had a Red Priestess by his side. Emmelyne tapped her fingers on the window sill, humming the tune of a song to herself. It was a song Catelyn had sung to her once when she only five or six. She'd tried to forget the song, as it was about the Mother, a god of the Seven. It was a hymn, sung during wartime by women missing their sons or brothers or husbands. She began to sing softly, trying her best to remember the words. "Gentle Mother, font of mercy, save our sons from war, we pray. Stay the swords and stay the arrows, let them know a better day. Gentle Mother, strength of women, help our daughters through this fray. Soothe the wrath and tame the fury, teach us all kinder way. Gentle Mother, font of mercy, save our sons from war, we pray. Stay the swords and stay the arrows, let them know a better day."  
Emmelyne knew many songs, but for some strange reason that was the only one that came to her mind. She had to admit, it was surely because she missed Catelyn. She missed everybody.


	22. Chapter Twenty-One: Hidden

It was time. Stannis Baratheon's troops would be landing on King's Landing at any moment. Everyone in the Red Keep was frantic with fear, and those of Flea Bottom were as well. Outside, lightening a rain raged on. Emmelyne sat in her room with R'hllor, her arms curled tightly around his neck. She'd be bringing him with her to hide with the queen and other ladies, but she knew he would grow restless without the ability to run around. No one had brought him on his morning walk, for fear of a surprise early morning attack. Emmelyne was afraid. She didn't want to admit it and she didn't want to accept it, but she was. R'hllor sensed this, and he let his head rest on her shoulder. As she sat there, her face buried in her loyal pet's fur, she began to pray. "Please, R'hllor, I beg of you to let us win this battle. And if Joffrey may fall in the battle and if others do as well, I will not be angry. If I should die tonight, I will not be angry. But allow Sansa to live. Allow Sansa to finally be able to go home."  
A quiet knock sounded on the door, and Emmelyne sat up. "Come in," she said.  
The door opened, and Sansa stepped inside. "Are you alright?" the younger girl questioned.  
"Yes. I'm just worried," Emmelyne replied.  
Sansa nodded, sitting down on the bed with her elder sister. "We'll be safe with the queen. Hidden and underground," she offered.  
"I suppose your right," Emmelyne agreed.  
She wrapped an arm around her sister's shoulders. "And we'll have R'hllor to protect us."  
Sansa looked at the direwolf with a small smile. "Yes. R'hllor will protect us."  
Outside, the bells started ringing. Stannis had arrived.  
Sansa, Emmelyne, Shae, and R'hllor made their way through the castle. Sansa had been called upon by Joffrey to see him off into battle. After that they needed to get to the queen, who was hiding out with some other ladies in the holdfast. As they walked, Tyrion made his way toward the group of women. "Lady Sansa, Lady Emmelyne, and, uh, Sheila," he greeted.  
"Shae," she corrected, annoyance clear on her face.  
"Shae, yes. Surely my sister has asked you to join the other highborn ladies in Maegor's holdfast," Tyrion noted.  
"She has, my lord, but King Joffrey sent for me to see him off," Sansa explained.  
As if on cue, Joffrey stepped into the room, Sandor at his side and knights at his back. "Sansa, Emmelyne," he said, almost the way a person calls an animal.  
"He's always been a great romantic, my nephew," Tyrion muttered.  
"Sansa, Emmelyne, come here," Joffrey urged.  
"I will pray for your safe return, my lord," Sansa told Tyrion.  
"As will I," Emmelyne nodded.  
"Will you?" Tyrion asked, though the question seemed directed toward Sansa.  
"Just as I pray for the king's," the red-haired girl replied.  
The two girls turned away from Tyrion, stepping up to Joffrey. "Your king rides forth to battle," Joffrey said to them. "You should see him off with a kiss."  
Emmelyne scrunched her nose with sheer disgust. Joffrey drew his sword, smiling. "My new blade. Hearteater, I've named it. Kiss it," he stated.  
Sansa slowly leaned forward, pressing her lips to the steel. "And you," Joffrey said to Emmelyne once Sansa rose.  
Emmelyne did as told. "You'll kiss it again when I return, and taste my uncle's blood," Joffrey smirked.  
"Will you slay him yourself?" Sansa questioned.  
"If Stannis is fool enough to come near me."  
"So you'll be outside the gates fighting in the vanguard?"  
"A king doesn't discuss battle plans with stupid girls."  
"I'm sorry, Your Grace. You're right, I'm stupid. Of course you'll be in the vanguard. They say Emmelyne and I's brother Robb always goes where the fighting is thickest. And he is only a pretender."  
Joffrey nodded. "Your brother's turn will come. Then you both can lick his blood off Hearteater, too."  
He stepped around the girls, walking away. Emmelyne noticed Sandor looking back at her. Sansa and Emmelyne quickly returned to Shae. "Some of those boys will never come back," Shae said softly.  
"Joffrey will. The worst ones always live," Emmelyne answered stiffly.  
"Shh. Come, girls," Shae urged.  
Shae took Emmelyne's wrist, and Emmelyne took Sansa by the hand. R'hllor followed closely as they hurried in the direction of the holdfast.  
Among the women and screaming babies, Emmelyne was restless. She sat in a corner, R'hllor resting next to her, his head in her lap. Nearby, she saw Shae and Sansa whispering. The two got along well, and Emmelyne supposed it was good Sansa had someone she could trust. At least they both trusted the same person. Cersei stepped into the room, Tommen following her closely. They sat at the front of room, Cersei on a chair and Tommen on a pile of cushions. Immediately, a young woman poured Cersei a cup of wine. "Sansa," the queen said.  
Sansa stood, and Emmelyne watched her closely as she walked up to Cersei. "I was wondering where our little dove had flown," Cersei said. "You look pale, child. Is your red flower still blooming?"  
"Yes," Sansa answered.  
"Fitting, isn't it? The men will bleed out there and you will bleed in here. Pour Lady Sansa some wine," Cersei instructed the girl by her side.  
"I'm not thirsty, Your Grace," Sansa said.  
"So? I didn't offer you water."  
Sansa took a cup, looking around the room. Her eyes landed on Ilyn Payne. "What's he doing here?" she questioned Cersei.  
"Ser Ilyn? He's here to defend us. When the axes smash down those doors, you may be glad to have him," Cersei shrugged.  
"But we have guards to defend us. My sister brought her direwolf, and he can defend us."  
"Guards we have paid. And a beast that once attacked my son, or have you forgotten? Should the city fall the guards will be the first ones out of the doors. We don't know how well your sister has trained that wolf. It could turn on us all."  
The door opened suddenly, and a man stepped inside. He bowed to Cersei before speaking. "The lads caught a groom and two maids trying to sneak away with a stolen horse and some gold cups."  
"The battle's first traitors. Have Ser Ilyn see to them. Put their heads on spikes outside the stables as a warning," Cersei commanded.  
The man nodded, and he and Ilyn left the room. "The only way to keep the small folk loyal is to make certain they fear you more than they do the enemy. Remember that if you ever hope to become a queen," Cersei told Sansa.  
Emmelyne tried to ignore the conversation, running her fingers through R'hllor's thick fur. She needed something to do with her hands. Trying to keep her mind away from what was happening outside, she began to think of the holdfast itself. It was named after Maegor the Cruel, the son of Aegon of the Conqueror. The Targaryens, at least those who had gone mad, were cruel in their own rights. But to be a Targaryen and be called 'the Cruel,' then Maegor truly must have been a terrible man. Emmelyne tried to remember the lessons Maester Luwin had given her about the Targaryen kings. Maegor had had a long lasting feud with the Faith Militant, and he'd gone about this feud by burning down the sept with the fire of his father's dragon, Balerion the Black Dread. Balerion's fire forged the Iron Throne, which Maegor died on. Emmelyne leaned against the wall, taking a deep breath. This was going to be a long night.


	23. Chapter Twenty-Two: Blackwater

What felt like hours passed. Emmelyne remained in her seat on the floor, watching a Dontos fail at juggling as he tried to entertain everyone. Cersei was growing drunker by the minute. Sansa and a group of women stood in a circle, their heads bowed and their eyes closed as they prayed. "Sansa, come here, little dove," Cersei commanded.  
The girl separated from the circle, stepping up to the queen. "My queen," she said.  
"What are you doing?" Cersei asked.  
"Praying."  
"You're perfect, aren't you? Praying. What are you praying for?"  
"For the Gods to have mercy on us all."  
"Oh. On all of us?"  
"Yes, Your Grace."  
"Even me?"  
"Of course, Your Grace."  
"Even Joffrey?"  
Emmelyne saw Sansa's expression shift from an awkward smile to a face filled with anxiety. "Joffrey is my- -" she began.  
"Oh, shut up you little fool," Cersei interrupted. "Praying to the Gods to have mercy on us all. The Gods have no mercy. That's why they're Gods."  
Cersei looked to Emmelyne now. "Even your precious Lord of Light has no mercy," she said.  
Both girls stared at Cersei in stunned silence. "My father told me that when he caught me praying," the queen started to explain. "My mother had just died, you see. I didn't really understand the concept of death, the finality of it. I thought that if I prayed very, very hard, the Gods would return my mother to me. I was four."  
"Your father doesn't believe in the Gods?" Sansa questioned.  
"He believes in them, he just doesn't like them very much," Cersei shrugged.  
Cersei turned, holding a cup out to the girl by her side. "One for her. Emmelyne, you come here."  
As the woman poured the cup of wine, Emmelyne slowly moved to Sansa's side. "Here," Cersei said, holding the cup out to Sansa.  
Sansa took it slowly. Cersei held another cup out to the woman beside her. "One for Emmelyne as well," she said.  
The woman did as told. "There you go, wild girl," the queen added as she passed the cup on to Emmelyne.  
Cersei picked up a cushion, tossing it to the floor in front of her. She did the same with another cushion. "Both of you sit. Drink," she instructed.  
The girls sat. Sansa took a small drink of wine, while Emmelyne simply swirled the red liquid around in the cup. "No, no. Drink, girls," Cersei urged.  
As not to anger the queen, both girls drank deeply from their cups. "I should have been born a man," Cersei said bluntly. "I'd rather face 1,000 swords than be shut up inside with this flock of frightened hens."  
"They are your guests under your protection," Sansa said incredulously.  
"You asked them here," Emmelyne added.  
"It was expected of me, as it will be of you, little dove, if you ever become Joffrey's queen. If my wretched brother should somehow prevail, these hens will return to their cocks and crow of how my courage inspired them, lifted their spirits," Cersei stated.  
"And if the city should fall?" Emmelyne asked.  
Cersei raised her eyebrow, a smirk on her face. "You girls would like that, wouldn't you? The Red Keep should hold for a time, long enough for me to go to the walls and yield to Stannis in person."  
Emmelyne spoke up. "They say that Stannis never smiles," she said.  
Cersei chuckled. "Yes, I suppose thats true. If it would anyone else outside those gates, I might have hoped for a private audience. But this is Stannis Baratheon. I'd have a better chance seducing his horse."  
Sansa's eyes widened at this statement. Cersei clearly noticed this, and she smiled a little. "Have I shocked you, little dove? Tears aren't a woman's only weapon. The best one's between your legs. Learn how to use it. Drink, both of you."  
The girls drank. "Do you have any notion of what happens when a city is sacked?" Cersei questioned.  
Sansa shook her head. "No, Emmelyne added.  
"No, you wouldn't, would you?" Cersei nodded. "If the city falls, I suppose it will be complete anarchy. Your direwolf won't be any help to us then, wild one. I suppose the beast will be killed, made into a nice coat for some lucky man. All of these fine women should be in for a bit of a rape. Half of them will have bastards in their bellies come the morning. You'll be glad of your red flower then, Sansa. When a man's blood is up, anything with tits looks good. Precious little things like you girls will look very, very good. Just slices of cake waiting to be eaten."  
Cersei took a long drink from her cup, and Emmelyne did the same, draining her glass entirely. Emmelyne did not drink wine often, for the drink left an awful taste in her mouth. She took Sansa by the hand, offering her sister a comforting smile.  
Hours had passed. Nearly everyone was asleep, save a few stragglers. Cersei was drunk beyond reason, spewing forth random stories to Sansa and Emmelyne. Tommen had wondered over to R'hllor, who was now curled protectively around the young boy. "When we were young, Jaime and I, we looked so much alike," Cersei was saying. "Even our father couldn't tell us apart. I could never understand why they treated us differently. Jaime was taught how to fight with sword and lance and mace, and I was taught to smile and sing and please. He was heir to Casterly Rock and I was sold to some stranger like a horse to be ridden whenever he desired."  
"You were Robert's queen," Sansa pointed out.  
"And you will be Joffrey's. Enjoy."  
Cersei's green eyes landed on Shae, who sat quietly, listening to them all speak. "I don't think I know this one," Cersei said.  
She stood, stepping up to Shae. "Which one of you is she a handmaiden to?" she questioned.  
"Me, Your Grace," Emmelyne said.  
Cersei nodded. "Pretty," she acknowledged.  
Shae hesitated, giving her best attempt at a curtsy. Cersei was unimpressed. "That's the worst curtsy I've ever seen. Here, it's not difficult. I mastered it when I was four. Straighten your back and bend," she said, showing Shae the proper way.  
Shae did the same. "Better. You learn fast. How long have you been in Lady Emmelyne's service?" Cersei asked.  
"A few weeks, Your Grace," Shae replied.  
Cersei returned to her seat, nodding. "And when did you leave Lorath?" she asked.  
Shae cocked her head, obviously slightly confused. "I had a Lorathi handmaiden once," Cersei explained.  
At this, Shae offered a smile, trying to ease the tension building in the room. "But she was a nobleman's daughter. You're not," Cersei stated.  
Shae's smile faded. "When did you come to Westeros?" the queen pressed.  
"10 years ago, Your Grace," Shae responded.  
"From Lorathi commoner to the Red Keep in 10 years, all without learning how to curtsy. I imagine that's very interesting story. What's your name?"  
"Shae, Your Grace."  
"Tell us a story, Shae."  
A silence fell over the small group of women. Shae stared Cersei down before nodded slightly. "When I was 13, I- -" she began.  
The door was suddenly thrown open. The crowd of women gasped. Lancel Lannister stumbled in, bleeding from a wound in his side and panic evident on his face. "Your Grace!" he cried.  
"What news?" Cersei questioned, standing up from her chair.  
"The Imp has set the river afire. Hundreds of ships are burning, maybe more. Stannis's fleet destroyed, but... but... but his troops have landed outside the city walls," Lancel said, whispering the last part.  
"Where is Joffrey?" Cersei asked.  
"On the battlements with Lord Tyrion."  
"Bring him back inside at once."  
"But, Your Grace- -" Lancel began.  
"What?" Cersei snapped.  
"The king's presence is good for morale."  
"Bring him back to his chambers now."  
"Not here?"  
"With the women and children? Do you want him to be mocked as a coward for the rest of his life?"  
"No, but I- -" Lancel started to say.  
"Now!" Cersei stated firmly.  
Lancel hurried from the room. Cersei sat back down, looking at Sansa. "When I told you about Ser Ilyn earlier, I lied. Do you want to hear the truth? You want to know why he's really here? He's here for us. Stannis may take the city, he may take the throne, but he will not take us alive."  
Emmelyne looked at Ilyn, who's cold eyes seemed to bore into her very soul. A shiver went down her spine.


	24. Chapter Twenty-Three: Home

Everyone had begun to grow restless. Tommen had woken up and returned to his mother, who stroked his golden hair fondly. For the second time, Lancel stepped up before queen Cersei. "The battle is lost, Your Grace. Stannis's troops are at the gates. When the Gold Cloaks saw the king leaving, they lost all heart," he whispered.  
"Where is my son?" Cersei questioned.  
"I want to escort him back to the battle."  
"Why do I care what you want? Bring me my- - " Cersei began.  
"Now listen to me!" Lancel shouted.  
Cersei stood suddenly, shoving him roughly in his injured side. He cried out in pain, falling. As he tumbled, his head slammed on the wall, giving a sickening thud. He hit the ground hard, groaning in pain as the women around him gasped and backed away. Cersei took Tommen tightly by the wrist, and the two left the room quickly. Emmelyne thought fast. She turned to face the women, who had begun whispering amongst themselves. "Don't be afraid," she said. "The queen has raised the drawbridge. This is the safest place we can be. Joffrey's not hurt. He's fighting bravely. His knights have rallied behind him. They will save the city. Shall we sing a hymn?" she offered, looking at Sansa hopefully.  
Sansa nodded, and the two girls began singing in unison. "Gentle Mother, font of mercy, save our sons from war, we pray."  
Soon enough, the other women joined in. As Sansa and Emmelyne sang, Shae suddenly grabbed Emmelyne's wrist. Emmelyne gasped, turning to face her handmaiden, while Sansa turned as well. "You girls must go," Shae stated.  
Emmelyne nodded. "Run to Emmelyne's chambers and bar the door. Bring R'hllor with you. Stannis won't hurt you girls. This one will," Shae urged, shooting a glance toward Ilyn.  
Shae urged the girls forward. "Come with us," Emmelyne pleaded.  
"I need to say goodbye to someone," Shae replied.  
"The queen said they'd rape everyone," Sansa said.  
"No one is raping me," Shae responded simply, lifting her skirt to reveal a small dagger.  
"Go. Run," she urged, pushing Emmelyne roughly toward the door.  
"R'hllor," Emmelyne called softly.  
The direwolf stood, hurrying to his master. The small group quickly left the holdfast.  
They reached Emmelyne's chambers quickly, Emmelyne taking care to close and lock the door behind them. Emmelyne let a long, shuddering breath escape her as she picked up a lantern from her bedside table. Outside, screams echoed from the ensuing battle. The smell of smoke wafted through the air. Sansa clutched tightly at Emmelyne's hand. Emmelyne hesitated, wrapping her arms around her little sister in a tight embrace. "The little ladies are starting to panic," a voice suddenly said.  
Emmelyne gasped, and the girls spun around. Sandor sat at the foot of Emmelyne's bed. "What are you doing here?" Emmelyne questioned.  
"Not here for long," Sandor replied. "I'm going."  
"Where?"  
"Someplace that isn't burning. North, might be. Could be."  
"What about the king?" Sansa asked.  
"He can die just fine on his own," Sandor shrugged, taking a long drink from the skin in his hands.  
He looked at the girls. "I can take you both with me. Take you to Winterfell," he offered, standing up from his seat.  
Emmelyne's eyes widened as she took in the blood covering his armor. "I'll keep you girls safe. Do you want to go home?" he asked.  
"We'll be safe here," Sansa said. "Stannis won't hurt us."  
He stepped forward, staring at her. "Look at me. Stannis is a killer. The Lannisters are killers. Your father was a killer. Your brother is a killer. Your sons will be killers someday. The world is built by killers. So you'd better get used to looking at them."  
Sansa shook her head. "You won't hurt us."  
"No, little bird. I won't hurt either of you."  
Emmelyne thought to herself. Sandor was offering them safety and protection, he was offering them home. They hadn't been home in over a year. But Sansa didn't want to go with him. Emmelyne knew that Sansa would at least survive in King's Landing, but if she stayed a minute longer she'd go mad. She looked around the room that had been her prison cell for the past year. And as she did, she knew exactly what he she had to do. Yes, should would miss Sansa, but she'd be able to see the rest of her family. She'd see Robb, and Bran, and Rickon, and even Catelyn.  
Sandor looked at Emmelyne. "You didn't answer my question. Have you been thinking, fierce one?" he asked.  
Emmelyne nodded slowly. "Well, best give me an answer quickly. Do you want to go back home?" he pressed.  
Emmelyne looked between Sandor and Sansa. Finally, she let of Sansa's hand. "Yes," she whispered.  
"Come on, then. Don't have any time to waste," Sandor said.  
Emmelyne turned to Sansa, smiling weakly. "I'm sorry. I'll miss you, little sister. You'll be safe here. You know how to survive," she encouraged.  
"I'll miss you, too," Sansa replied.  
Emmelyne stepped forward, giving Sansa one more embrace. "I love you, little sister."  
"I love you, too, Emmelyne."  
Emmelyne turned, moving to Sandor's side. "R'hllor. Come," she instructed, and the wolf bounded to her side.  
With one last look at Sansa, Emmelyne, R'hllor and Sandor left the room.


	25. Chapter Twenty-Four: Trial by Combat

Emmelyne and Sandor thrashed beneath the sacks on their heads. During their travels they'd somehow been captured by a group of men. This hadn't been the first time people had tried to capture them, but this was the first time someone had succeeded. She knew that two of the men had managed to get R'hllor, tying a rope around his neck and leading him along. Perhaps she could call for him, let him attack their captors. There was a burst of cheers as they were led, and Emmelyne became aware that they were at an inn, judging by the smells of food. She fought and struggled, but whoever was holding her was much stronger than she. "Now that is an uncommonly large person," she heard a man saying. "How does one manage to subdue such an uncommonly large person? In fact, how does one manage to subdue a person fighting like that other one?"  
"One waits for them both to drink until they pass out," another man replied.  
"Poor men. You two have my sympathy," the first man chuckled.  
There was a pause, and Emmelyne felt the sack being lifted. She glared at the men surrounding her as a man lifted Sandor's sack as well. The man chuckled. "Aha, not men at all. A girl and a Hound!" he laughed.  
The men filling the inn howled likes dogs, while others eyed Emmelyne hungrily. She moved closer to Sandor. "So good to see you again, Clegane," the man said.  
He was older, with long, thinning blond hair and piercing blue eyes. Wrinkles creased his forehead, and his beard was long and untamed. Sandor furrowed his eyebrows. "Thoros? The fuck you doing here?" he questioned.  
Thoros smiled. "Drinking and talking too much. Same as ever. Who's the girl?"  
"No one," Sandor stated.  
Thoros looked at Emmelyne expectantly. "What's your name, wild one?"  
She bit her lip. "Emmelyne," she admitted.  
"A pretty prize, lads. The Hound and the missing Stark girl," Thoros smirked, taking a drink from his cup of wine.  
As he did so, three figures walked toward the door. Emmelyne's eyes widened, and she immediately realized that Arya was leading the two others. Sandor noticed her as well. "Girl," he stated.  
Arya slowly began to turn. Sandor looked back to Thoros. "What in seven hells are you doing with the Stark bitch?" he demanded.  
Everyone turned to look at Arya. Emmelyne's eyes went wide. "Em?" Arya questioned softly.  
After a night at the inn and some well deserved conversation, it almost seemed like Arya's new friends, Gendry and Hot Pie, had begun to get along with Thoros and his group. Emmelyne, Arya and Sandor, however, hadn't quite warmed up to the men. Of course, Emmelyne was happy to see Arya. R'hllor was excited as well, licking the young girl all over.  
Gendry, a blacksmith's apprentice, had been fixing a breastplate. Gendry was handsome, with dark hair and blue eyes. Hot Pie, another friend of Arya's, was large and round. He had curly dark hair and dark eyes, which was paired well with his tanned skin. "If I had a proper forge, I could make it good as new," Gendry was telling Thoros.  
"Doesn't have to look pretty," Thoros shrugged. "It just has to keep the arrows out of my heart."  
"Why are you helping him? He takes us prisoner and now he's our friend?" Arya demanded.  
"You're not our prisoner, little lady," Thoros replied.  
"What am I?"  
"Our guest. No one's put any chains on you."  
"So I can walk away, then?"  
"These woods aren't safe for Ned Stark's daughters. You're lucky we found you both," Thoros said, looking at Emmelyne.  
Emmelyne rolled her eyes at him. Anguy, a young man with a bow, was loading Sandor and her into a prisoner cart. Sandor was not happy with this, but that might have simply been because he was the only one bound in ropes. "You think you're good with that bow, you little twat?" he demanded.  
Anguy chuckled. "Better than anyone you've ever met."  
"A coward's weapon. I like to fight up close. I like to see a man's face when I put the steel in him."  
"Why? So you can kiss him?"  
Emmelyne chuckled slightly, patting Sandor's arm. "Don't let him get to you," she murmured.  
Anguy had a kind face, with messy brown hair and dark eyes. He wasn't young, but he wasn't old either. Emmelyne would've assumed him to be just older than twenty. Arya suddenly stepped up, looking at Sandor accusingly. "Do you remember the last time you were here?" she demanded.  
Sandor glanced back. "Looks like every other shit inn on the road," he shrugged.  
Emmelyne remembered. Sandor had killed Mycah on Joffrey's orders. She offered a sad look to Arya, but the young girl seemed preoccupied. "Now, apologies, but you are one ugly fucker and I'd rather not see you no more," Anguy stated, and once more he put a sack over Sandor's head.  
Anguy looked at Emmelyne. "If you cooperate, wild one, I won't put one on you just yet," he said.  
"I'll cooperate," she said stiffly.  
Anguy smiled. "Good."  
The men, with some difficulty, hoisted Sandor into the cart. As he climbed, his head slammed the top of the cart. Anguy held back a laugh. "Watch you head," he warned.  
Emmelyne climbed in next, R'hllor jumping in after her. Anguy and another man climbed into the cart, Anguy thumping the wall. "Off we go!" he said.  
"Walk up!" another man added.  
The cart began rolling, and Emmelyne sighed softly, inching closer to Sandor's side. "At least they haven't killed us," she offered.  
"Not yet," Sandor replied gruffly.  
They rode along in silence. Emmelyne had grown tired, resting her head on Sandor's shoulder as the cart bounced along the road. After a little while of riding, Anguy had covered her head with a sack. She assumed it was so she wouldn't see where they were going. "Halt!" someone shouted.  
Emmelyne straightened. More men moved along, two of them taking Emmelyne by the arms. They led the group along, until finally they all stopped. The sacks were removed from their heads, and Emmelyne blinked, trying to adjust her eyes to the dim torchlight that filled the cave they had arrived in. The men led R'hllor, tying him to a branch just outside the cave entrance. "What is this place?" Gendry asked.  
"Somewhere neither wolves nor lions come prowling," Thoros answered.  
Sandor's sack was taken off last. He backed away from the fire nervously, his eyes wide. Anguy chuckled at this. Sandor looked around, trying to keep his composure. "You look like a bunch of swineherds," he stated.  
"Some of us were swineherds," Anguy shrugged. "And some of us tanners and masons. That was before."  
"You're still swineherds, and tanners and masons. You think carrying a crooked spear makes you a soldier?"  
"No," a voice stated. "Fighting in a war makes you a soldier."  
A man stepped forward. His hair was dark, cropped short. One of his eyes was covered by a patch of leather, but the other shined dark brown. He was tall and muscular. Somehow, Emmelyne almost recognized him. "Beric Dondarrion?" Sandor questioned. "You've seen better days.  
"And I won't see them again," Beric shrugged.  
Sandor shook his head. "Stark deserters. Baratheon deserters. You lot aren't fighting in a war. You're running from it."  
"Last I heard, you were King Joffrey's guard dog. But here you are 1,000 miles from home with a Stark girl. Which of us is running?"  
"Untie these ropes and we'll find out. What are you doing leading a mob of peasants?"  
"Ned Stark ordered me to execute your brother, in King Robert's name."  
"Ned Stark is dead. King Robert is dead. My brother's alive. You're fighting for ghosts," Sandor concluded, spitting at the ground.  
"That's what we are," Beric smiled, "ghosts waiting for you in the dark. You can't see us, but we see you. No matter whose cloak you wear- -Lannister, Stark, Baratheon- - you prey on the weak, the Brotherhood without Banners will hunt you down."  
"You found god? Is that it?"  
"Aye. I've been reborn in the light of the one true god. As have we all. As would any man who's seen the things we've seen."  
"If you mean to murder me, then bloody well get on with it."  
"You'll die soon enough, dog," Thoros stated. "But it won't be murder, only justice."  
"And a kinder fate than you deserve. Lions you call yourselves. At the Mummer's Ford, girls of seven years were raped and babes still on the breast were cut in two while their mothers watched," Anguy stated.  
"I wasn't at the Mummer's Ford. Dump your dead children at someone other door," Sandor snapped.  
"House Clegane was built upon dead children," Thoros argued. "I saw them lay Prince Aegon and Princess Rhaenys before the Iron Throne."  
"Do you take me for my brother? Is being born Clegane a crime?" Sandor demanded.  
"Murder is a crime," Anguy stated.  
"I never touched the Targaryen babes. I never saw them, never smelled them, never heard them bawling. You want to cut my throat, get on with it! But don't call me murderer, and pretend that you're not."  
"You murdered Mycah," Arya's voice suddenly called. "The butcher's boy. My friend. He was 12 years old. He was unarmed. And you rode him down."  
"Arya, please, stop," Emmelyne said.  
But Arya continued. As the young girl spoke, Beric started to walk toward her. "You slung him over your horse like he was some deer," she concluded.  
"Aye, he was a bleeder," Sandor stated.  
Beric looked back at him. "You don't deny killing this boy?"  
"I was Joffrey's sworn shield. The boy attacked the prince," Sandor replied.  
"That's a lie! I hit Joffrey. Mycah just ran away," Arya snapped.  
"Then I should have killed you. Not my place to question princes," Sandor said.  
Emmelyne stared at her sister. "Arya, that was two years ago," she reminded.  
"I don't care. He killed my friend," Arya said stiffly.  
Beric turned away from Arya, looking at Sandor. "You stand accused of murder. But no one here knows the truth of the charge, so it is not for us to judge you. Only the Lord of Light may do that now," Beric stated.  
Emmelyne went stiff, her eyes widening. These men, all of these men, worshipped her god. "I sentence you to trial by combat," Beric finally concluded.  
"So, who will it be? Should we find out if your fire god really loves you, priest?" Sandor questioned Thoros.  
He looked to Anguy. "Or you, archer? What are you worth with a sword in your hand."  
He looked at Arya. "Or is this little girl the bravest one here?" At this he almost laughed.  
"Aye," Beric said. "She might be. But it's me you'll fight."


	26. Chapter Twenty-Five: Death is not an End

Everyone stood or sat in silence. Thoros stood before the fire. "Lord, cast your light upon us," he said softly.  
"Lord of Light defend us," the rest of the men stated, all in synchrony.  
Anguy cut the ropes that bound Sandor, stepping back. Thoros stared into the fire. "Show us the truth," he said. "Strike this man down if he is guilty. Give strength to his sword if he is true. A follower of yours is with him, do not allow her to sway you. Lord of Light, give us wisdom. For the night is dark and full of terrors."  
"For the night is dark and full of terrors," the men echoed, and even Emmelyne whispered it to herself.  
Thoros stepped back. Sandor was handed a sword, and he tested it weight in his hands. Thoros was silent as he held a sword out, slicing Beric's palm open. Blood ran down his skin. He took the sword in his unharmed hand. And suddenly there was a brilliant burst of fire as he let his blood touch the steel. The sword was on fire. Emmelyne's eyes went wide, and so did Sandor's. He took a few steps back, hesitating as he took a shield from someone's outstretched hand. Beric stood, pointing his sword, waiting for an attack. Sandor shouted loudly, charging. Their swords clashed together. Once. Twice. A third time. Beric pressed his sword to Sandor's, the flame inches away from Sandor's face. He reacted quickly, forcing Beric to the side. They both backed away, staring at each other. Arya stood from her seat. Beric swung. Steel rang against steel. Sandor raised his shield, trying to keep away from the fire as Beric twirled his sword dangerously in one hand. Beric swung down, but Sandor narrowly avoided the blade as it crashed against a rock. He swung madly, trying to hit Sandor even once. Despite his size, Sandor was quite fast. Beric spun around, knocking one his own men over with his shield as he raced toward Sandor. Their swords crashed together once more. But this time, Sandor got the upper hand. He landed a kick squarely to Beric's chest, sending him stumbling back. While Beric regained his bearings, Sandor stepped up to him, swinging. Beric jerked his sword up, hitting Sandor's midair, stopping it as he walked forward. They both swung madly at each other. Sandor was getting angrier by the minute. He lunged forward, swinging his blade in a wide arc. Beric lowered, the blade narrowly missing his head. Sandor's sword came around, crashing into a weapons rack. He swung down hard on Beric's shield, roaring with rage. When that didn't work, he tried a different tactic, trying to knock Beric down with his shield. Beric managed a hit to Sandor's leg, sending him stumbling into a fire. Sandor screamed, kicking a barrel aside as he hurried out of the flame. Beric came toward him, and it seemed as if he was going to win. He swung. Sandor caught the blade between his own sword and Beric's shield. Beric's eyes widened as Sandor kicked him roughly in the chest, and he stumbled back once more. Beric managed a hard hit to Sandor's head. "Get back," Thoros instructed, pulling Arya away as Sandor tumbled to the ground.  
Sandor managed to get to his feet. Beric dropped low, and Sandor's swing missed him. He slammed his shield against Sandor's head, but that didn't even seem to slow him down. The flaming sword hit Sandor's shield, and a brilliant flash of white light lit up the cave for a moment. Sandor had had enough. He swung, hitting Beric's shield, sending him to the ground, but only for a moment. The fight continued. It almost felt as if it would never end. Beric managed to get Sandor to the ground. He swung, hitting Sandor's shield, which ignited instantly. Sandor quickly got to his feet, trying to keep the shield away from him while also continuing the fight. A chant struck up among the Brother. "Guilty. Guilty. Guilty."  
The flame finally reached Sandor, who began to shout, trying to put out the fire to the best of his ability. Thoros watched, a faint smile on his face. "No," Emmelyne whispered.  
"Kill him!" Arya shrieked.  
Beric stepped up to Sandor. Sandor went for a last resort, blocking with his shield, which still glowed bright with flame. Beric tried to charge him, but Sandor shoved him back with all of his strength, shouting. Beric charged, and Sandor did as well. "No, no," Emmelyne stated.  
But then Sandor swung. His sword carved it's way through Beric's shoulder, into his chest. The cave was silent as a crypt. Sandor let go of the sword, and Beric fell to the ground, blood spurting, covering the dirt. Thoros was the first to react. He raced forward, dropping down next to Beric's body. "Lord, cast your light upon this man, your servant. Bring him back from death and darkness. His flame has been extinguished. Restore it. For the night is dark and full of terrors."  
Sandor fell to the ground, shouting, trying to put out the fire on the burnt remains of his shield. "Lord, cast..." Thoros began.  
"Arya, don't!" Gendry shouted.  
Arya turned, grabbing a dagger from one of the men beside her. She started running toward Sandor, but so did Emmelyne. Emmelyne reached Sandor first, staring Arya down. "Don't," she stated.  
Gendry rushed forward, picking Arya up and slinging her over his shoulder. "No! No! Let go of me! Let me go!" she shrieked.  
Sandor looked at her. "Looks like your sister's god likes me more than your butcher's boy," he stated.  
"Burn in hell!" Arya screamed, trying to free herself from Gendry's grip.  
"He will," Beric's voice answered.  
Everyone looked up. Beric stood, looking at Arya. "But not today," he said.  
Emmelyne had heard of followers of R'hllor being able to bring people back from the dead, but she had never seen it happen. She looked at Thoros, who almost smiled at her.


	27. Chapter Twenty-Six: The Cost of Life

"I want my gold," Sandor stated.  
"It says it clearly right there on that note you'll be repaid in full when the war is over," Thoros replied.  
"Piss on that! You're nothing but thieves," Sandor argued.  
"We're outlaws. Outlaws steal. You're lucky we didn't kill you," Anguy pointed out.  
"Come try it, archer. I'll shove those arrows up your ass."  
Sandor started to walk toward Anguy, but Emmelyne gave him a pointed look, stopping him in his tracks. "It's not worth it," she stated.  
"You can't let him go. He's a murderer. He's guilty," Arya spoke up.  
"Not in the eyes of god," Beric replied.  
"You can't!"  
"Enough! The judgement isn't ours to make."  
Anguy tossed Sandor his weapons, though rather unhappily. "Go in peace, Sandor Clegane. The Lord of Light isn't done with you yet," Beric said.  
Sandor looked to Emmelyne, who stood beside Arya. "Come on," he urged.  
"I'm staying," she said.  
"Why?"  
"The Brotherhood worships the Lord of Light. They worship the same god as I do. Thoros can bring people back from the dead. Perhaps I can learn how to do that."  
Sandor sighed. "Well, I guess this is goodbye then, fierce one."  
She took a few steps forward, smiling slightly. "I'm sure we'll meet again," she said kindly.  
He didn't look so sure of that. Emmelyne closed the distance between them. She stood on her toes, kissing the scarred skin of his cheek. "Thank you for saving me from Joffrey," she offered.  
Sandor nodded slightly. "You're welcome, fierce one."  
He hesitated, leaning close and kissing her. It was short but sweet, and it filled Emmelyne with joy. She stepped back, a smile gracing her lips. Anguy put a sack over Sandor's head once more. Two men took Sandor by the arms, leading him away. R'hllor, who was still tied at the entrance, whimpered as they passed him. "Lord," Emmelyne murmured to herself. "I pray that you keep him safe."  
Once night came, everyone had settled. Gendry worked away at a forge. "What are you doing?" Arya questioned him.  
"Just mending Lord Beric's armor," Gendry shrugged.  
"Why?"  
"I'm going to stay on and smith for the Brotherhood."  
Emmelyne sighed, looking back to Thoros, who was trying to teach her how to bring someone back from the dead. He told her there was no specific way to do it, but that he'd show her the way he did it himself. "One moment, Lady Stark," Thoros said.  
He stood, moving to the cave entrance to speak with Anguy. Someone had untied R'hllor, who sat at his master's side, panting softly. She ran her fingers through the direwolf's fur, leaning against the rock wall. Already she missed Sandor, but she knew that she had to stay. Thoros knew more than she could ever imagine. Suddenly, Arya sat down beside her. "Arya," she greeted.  
"Why were you with the Hound?" Arya questioned.  
"He doesn't like to be called that," Emmelyne responded.  
"I don't care. Why were you with him?"  
"He saved me from Joffrey. He offered to take Sansa, too. She didn't want to go. But I did. I would've gone mad if I'd stayed there. I heard voices. I heard- - I heard Vyreo," Emmelyne murmured.  
Arya looked at her, obviously confused. "You told us all that Vyreo died."  
Emmelyne bit her lip. "Let's talk about something other than Vyreo."  
"Alright," Arya agreed. "Why did the Hound kiss you?"  
"Can we talk about something other than that?" Emmelyne questioned, chuckling weakly.  
Arya gave her a pointed look. Emmelyne sighed. Even she wasn't quite sure why Sandor had kissed her. And that's what she said. "I don't know, Arya. Honestly. We were traveling for... I don't even know how long. A long time."  
"Do you think he loves you?"  
"Perhaps. I don't know his feelings. I could have...maybe...R'hllor could have told me. I wouldn't have asked."  
Arya hesitated. "Do you love him?"  
Emmelyne just smiled, ruffling Arya's hair. "No more questions, little wolf," she murmured.  
That seemed enough of an answer to Arya.  
Everyone lie by the fire, quiet. Emmelyne and Arya sat together, and Emmelyne listened as Arya listed names. "Joffrey. Cersei. Ilyn Payne. Ser Meryn. The Hound."  
She wasn't sure how these were of importance to Arya, but she decided not to question it. Arya looked up at Thoros, who was watching her. "What are you going to do with me?" she asked.  
"At first light we'll ride for Riverrun. If Emmelyne wants to go, she's welcome to. Your brother's there now. He'll make a contribution to our cause and you can go home," Thoros said simply.  
"I'm a hostage and you're selling me," Arya stated.  
"Don't think of it that way."  
"But it is that way."  
"It is. And it isn't."  
"More is than isn't."  
Thoros smiled, trying to ease the tension. "Beric admired your father a great deal, you know. He wanted to refuse your ransom altogether."  
"So why don't you?" Arya retorted.  
"We need the gold. If Emmelyne goes, we get more gold."  
Beric sat down, looking at Arya. "Do I frighten you, child?" he asked.  
"No," Arya said stiffly.  
"You're angry with me. And I don't blame you. But letting him go was the right thing. I have more reason than most to want him hanged."  
"I thought he killed you."  
"He did."  
"But how..." Arya trailed off.  
Beric smiled a little, nodding his head toward Thoros. "Thoros," he said, "how many times have you brought me back?"  
"It's the Lord of Light brings you back. I'm just the lucky drunk who says the words," Thoros chuckled.  
"How many times?"  
"Five, I think. No, this makes six."  
"Six."  
"There was the first time- - the Mountain. Show her," Thoros told Beric.  
Thoros looked at Arya. "Lance right through the chest," he explained.  
Beric opened his shirt, revealing a collection of scar. "Then I was stabbed in the belly," he said.  
"Then it was an arrow in the back," Thoros added.  
Beric showed Arya a long scar on his side. "And that axe in the side," Thoros said.  
"Then the Lannisters caught me and executed me for treason. Was it a hanging or a dagger in the eye?" Beric asked Thoros.  
"Both. Fuckers couldn't decide," Thoros chuckled.  
Beric lifted his eyepatch, showing twisted, scarred flesh. "And the Hound makes six," Thoros concluded.  
"Second time I've been killed by a Clegane," Beric said.  
"Perhaps you should stop picking fights with them, then," Emmelyne stated.  
Beric chuckled slightly. "Perhaps I should."  
"It's not getting any easier, you know," Thoros said to Beric.  
"I know," Beric nodded. "Every time I come back, I'm a bit less. Pieces of you get chipped away."  
Arya hesitated. "Could you bring back a man without a head? Not six times. Just once" she said.  
"I don't think it works that way, child," Thoros said, but his voice showed sympathy.  
"He was a good man, Ned Stark. He's at rest now, somewhere. I would never wish my life upon him," Beric told Arya.  
"I would," she stated. "You're alive."


	28. Chapter Twenty-Seven: On the Road Again

Emmelyne aimed the bow in her hands carefully, angling it to the head of the straw training dummy. She loosed the arrow, smiling as it hit it's mark. Arya was doing the same, Anguy at her side. As she hit the head of her dummy, Emmelyne heard her speak. "Joffrey."  
Arya loosed another arrow, hitting the chest. "Cersei."  
Between the legs. "Ilyn Payne."  
"You're good," Anguy commented. "You're not as good as you think you are.  
"Face, tits, balls. I hit 'em right where I wanted to," Arya stated.  
"Aye, but you took your sweet time of it. You won't be fighting straw men, little lady. Show me your position."  
Arya brought the bow up, aiming. "Keep your elbow high. You want your back doing the hard labor," Anguy said, raising Arya's arm.  
As Anguy gave his advice, Emmelyne adjusted herself, following the movements he was showing Arya. "You're holding. Never hold," he told Arya.  
"What?" she questioned.  
"You're muscles tense up when you hold. Pull the string back to the center of your chin and release. Never hold."  
Arya seemed confused. "But I have to aim."  
"Never aim," Anguy shrugged.  
"Never aim?"  
"Your eye knows where it wants the arrow to go. Trust your eye."  
Anguy stepped back, turning to Emmelyne. "Let's see what you can do," he said.  
Emmelyne nodded, adjusting and aiming as quickly as she could. She loosed the arrow, hitting the dummy's neck. "Good," he said.  
He looked to Arya. "One more time for you."  
Arya raised the bow. "There's someone out there," she stated suddenly.  
Anguy stepped to her side, and Emmelyne did too. They looked out into the trees, and Emmelyne heard the faint sound of voices. Armored knights rode along on horses, a woman in a long red cloak among them. Anguy took his bow from Arya's hands, walking toward the small party. Thoros stood. The Brotherhood men, along with Arya and Emmelyne, stepped out into a clearing. "That's about far enough," Anguy stated, raising his bow.  
The woman in the red cloak pulled down her hood, revealing long, dark red hair. Her blue seemed to gaze into Emmelyne's very soul. She was ghostly pale. "We come as friends," she smiled, her voice laced with an accent.  
"Begging your pardon, m'lady, but we'll be the judge of that," Anguy replied.  
Thoros stepped forward. "Valar morghulis," the Red Lady said to him.  
"Valar dohaeris," Thoros replied.  
Emmelyne knew that this was in Valyerian. Their conversation continued as such. Even though the Red Lady was speaking to Thoros, Emmelyne felt her gaze. "My friends here don't speak High Valyerian," Thoros said suddenly, breaking away from the conversation.  
The Red Lady did not answer. "Why are you here, my lady?" Thoros questioned.  
Thoros led the Red Lady to cave to give her a private audience with Beric. Everyone else waited outside, trying not to think of what the Red Lady could be saying to Beric. Emmelyne returned to practicing with the bow. Anguy was quiet as he watched her, only speaking up to correct her if she did something wrong. Finally, Emmelyne gave up on occupying herself with the bow. She sighed as she sat down beside Arya. "Where's R'hllor?" the younger girl asked.  
"Hunting," Emmelyne replied.  
The next morning, Anguy had calmed down a great deal. He was showing Gendry different arrow points, seeing if the young man could forge them. Emmelyne hadn't joined the conversation, but she listened closely. "Bodkin point. Penetrates plate at 200 yards," Anguy was saying.  
R'hllor had returned sometime in the night, his muzzle coated with blood and a dead rabbit in his mouth. The spoiled animal had watched Emmelyne cook the rabbit over the fire, only eating it when it was cooked to his liking. Of course, his liking meant that it was nearly blackened by the time Emmelyne was done with it. The Red Lady, who Emmelyne learned was Stannis's red priestess Melisandre, walked with Thoros and Beric along a path. "I don't like that woman," Arya said.  
Anguy chuckled, looking up. Melisandre caught his gaze, smiling. "Thats 'cause you're a girl," Anguy said.  
Gendry smiled as well. Emmelyne rolled her eyes. "What does that have to do with anything?" Arya asked.  
Neither of them answered. Melisandre stepped up to them, smiling kindly. Beric and Thoros stood at her sides, almost like armed sentries. Emmelyne slowly moved to Arya's side, taking her sister's shoulder cautiously. "Forgive me, lad," Beric said to Gendry.  
Two men in armor stepped forward, one of them holding a rope. Gendry seemed to realize what was happening. He started to run, but one of them grabbed him roughly around the waist. "What are you doing?" Arya demanded.  
She grabbed the arm of one of the men, trying to pull him away from her friend. "Let go of him," she stated.  
The man pushed her away with ease, and they quickly bound Gendry's wrists. "Tell them to stop," she urged Anguy.  
"Come on," one of the men snapped at Gendry as they started leading him.  
Arya turned to Beric. "He wants to be one of you. He wants to join the Brotherhood. Stop them!"  
"We serve the Lord of Light and the Lord of Light needs this boy," Beric replied.  
"Did the Lord of Light tell you that or did she?"  
Another armored man stepped up to Thoros and Beric, two sacks of gold in his hands. He handed them to Beric. "You're not doing this for your god. You're doing it for gold," Arya stated.  
"We're doing it for both, girl," Thoros said. "We can't defend the people without weapons and horses and food. And we can't get weapons and horses and food without gold."  
"You told me this was a Brotherhood. You told me I could be one of you," Gendry said.  
Melisandre stepped up to him. Emmelyne didn't listen. She stepped up to Arya, lowering to her height. "Do you want Gendry to be safe?" she asked.  
Arya nodded. "Alright," Emmelyne said. "Then if you really want that, I'll go as well. I'll keep him as safe as I can. Do you want that, Arya?"  
"Yes," Arya whispered.  
Emmelyne nodded. "Then I promise I'll protect Gendry."  
So she'd be leaving one of her sisters for the second time. She turned. "R'hllor, come," she stated.  
The wolf hurried to her side. Arya made her way to Melisandre, Emmelyne following close behind. Arya grabbed Melisandre roughly by the side, turning her around. "You're a witch. You're going to hurt him," she stated.  
Melisandre's eyes went wide. She took Arya's face in her hand, staring deep into the young girl's eyes. "I see a darkness in you. And in that darkness, eyes staring back at me- - brown eyes, blue eyes, green eyes," her gaze flickered to Emmelyne. "Gray eyes. Eye's you'll shut forever."  
She let go of Arya. "We will meet again."  
Emmelyne slowly stepped forward. "Lady Melisandre," she said.  
"What?" Melisandre replied.  
"I would like to go with you. Arya wants me to keep her friend safe. I've promised her I will. So, if you'll let me, please bring me along with you."  
Melisandre nodded slightly. "Yes. You may come. Get in the cart with the boy."  
Emmelyne turned to Arya. "Goodbye," she said.  
"Goodbye," Arya nodded.  
She leaned close, kissing Arya on the forehead before turning and walking to the cart. Gendry seemed confused as she climbed in beside him, R'hllor jumping in after her. "What are you doing?" he questioned.  
"Keeping you safe," she said stiffly.  
The cart started rolling, and Emmelyne leaned against R'hllor's side.


	29. Chapter Twenty-Eight: A Promise

Gendry, Melisandre, and Emmelyne stood on the deck of a large ship. R'hllor stood at Emmelyne's side, sniffing the wooden boards. Emmelyne ran her fingers along the ruby, which glittered in the sunlight that hit it. Around her neck she still had the necklace Joffrey had given her. She had nearly forgotten about it. Blackened, charred boats surrounded their ship. They were going through the wreckage of the Battle of the Blackwater. Emmelyne stepped up to the side of the ship. She unclasped Joffrey's necklace, tossing it into the water. As she gazed into the water, a face peered up at her. One she recognized well. With white hair and pale, almost pink eyes. "Vyreo," she whispered.  
He smiled at her from beneath the veil of water. She heard his voice, but his mouth did not move. "Hello, child. I see that you've decided to keep on living."  
"Yes," she said. "I suppose I have."  
"Dark things are coming, child. Very dark things."  
"What kind of things?"  
But she did not receive an answer. She leaned against the side of the boat, staring at Vyreo's face as it faded into the dark water. "I'm going mad," she murmured.  
As she stared into the churning waves, the dark thoughts crept into her mind. She had never been a strong swimmer, and the fall wasn't long at all. She'd hit the water quickly, and surely her dress would weigh her down. Of course she'd prefer a quicker death, but drowning could do. Drowning might work. But the others would notice. They'd pull her out of the water before she could die. She looked up at the Red Keep, where she knew Sansa remained. Perhaps if she shouted loud enough, her little sister might hear her. She turned to Gendry, who leaned out, staring at the Red Keep. Trying to keep a smile on her face, she moved to his side. "Melisandre had good news, I presume," she said.  
Gendry looked at her, a wide smile on his face. "I'm Robert Baratheon's son," he replied.  
Emmelyne chuckled lightly. "And you can do nothing about that.  
"I can't. But it's good to know who my father is."  
"I suppose that's true."  
The two settled into silence, staring out at the water.  
When the group reached the shore of Dragonstone, a group of armored knights were waiting on the beach. In their hands, a banner waved, the flaming heart of R'hllor with a crowned stag in the center. R'hllor, panting with excitement, leaped out of the small boat, swimming toward shore. They got the boat to shore after, climbing out. Melisandre smiled as Gendry and Emmelyne looked around the castle with amazement. The towering walls were gray stone. At the gates the carved image of two dragons warned against enemies. Emmelyne looked at Gendry, and the two shared a smile. Melisandre turned, starting to walk away. Gendry and Emmelyne followed, R'hllor rushing to Emmelyne's side.  
Once they were inside the castle, Melisandre led them to a large room. At the center of room was a table, painted like a map. A man with thinning, gray hair and brown eyes stood at the head of the table. Emmelyne assumed this was Stannis Baratheon. Melisandre pushed Gendry forward, and Stannis stepped up, looking the young man over. Gendry started to bow, but Stannis took his face in his hand, staring him down. He let go of Gendry, looking at Melisandre. "Half Robert," he stated, "half lowborn."  
Melisandre turned to the men beside them. "Show the boy to his chambers. Find the girl somewhere to sleep," she said. "Have the maids draw the boy a bath and find him some decent clothes. Get the girl some clothes as well. She can have one of my dresses."  
She looked at Gendry, smiling slightly. "I'll come visit you soon," she told him.  
Emmelyne and Gendry were led away, R'hllor not too far behind.  
The men found Emmelyne suitable enough chambers. One of them handed her a folded dress, and she was glad to see that it was red. They left her in silence. She sighed, collapsing on the bed. R'hllor leaped up beside her, resting his head on her chest. The state of her clothes was atrocious. After she and Sandor had left King's Landing, she'd worn man's clothes, anything they could steal.  
And now there she was, dressed in a tattered blue shirt and a pair of black trousers that were too long for her legs. The state of her shoes was even worse. Stolen man's shoes had managed for most of the trip, but the pair she wore was too large for her feet. The soles had worn away, leaving the bottoms of her feet almost bare.  
She slid off the shoes, tossing them aside. Smiling, she unfolded the dress. It wasn't unlike the gowns she typically wore at Winterfell. She stripped off her old clothes, sliding on the new dress gratefully. The fabric felt cool on her skin. She adjusted her collar, letting her fingers brush along the hammered shape of the Lannister lion. Once it had been a kindness, Jon had included it because she had befriended Tyrion. Now, it was nothing but a painful reminder of her time in King's Landing.  
Emmelyne was quiet as she opened a door, behind which she heard the sounds of whimpering. Her eyes went wide as she took in Gendry, tied to the bed, crying softly. She hurried to his side. "What happened?" she questioned.  
"The Red Woman," he breathed out.  
The remains of a fire flickered in the brazier. "What did she do?" Emmelyne asked him.  
He could only say one word. "Leeches."  
She looked around the room, seeing a small table with wine and cups. "One moment," she murmured, standing.  
She filled a cup with wine quickly, returning to Gendry. "Drink," she instructed, holding the cup carefully to his lips.  
He drank deeply, looking at her with wide eyes. "Thank you," he said.  
"Don't thank me," she stated. "I'm just doing what I promised."  
His trousers were untied, pushed low. She retied them, pulling them back to their proper place. "Are you alright?" she asked.  
"I think I am," Gendry nodded.  
He wore no shirt. Dried blood dotted his chest, and she wiped it away with her sleeve. His wrists and ankles were bound with leather straps, keeping him firmly in place. She hesitated. Melisandre would know it if she untied him, but perhaps she didn't need to keep him unbound. "I'm going to untie your hands. Only for a moment, I can't keep you untied. Melisandre would know it was me," she told Gendry.  
"Good. Thank you," he repeated.  
She shook her head as she untied his restraints. Gendry sat up quickly, throwing his arms around her in a tight embrace. Surprised, Emmelyne paused before wrapping her arms around him in turn. "Thank you," he whispered.  
"You don't have to thank me," she replied simply.


	30. Chapter Twenty-Nine: Making Vows

Emmelyne made sure to keep quiet as she made her way to the dungeons. She didn't carry a torch, for fear she would be noticed. In her hands she simply held a cup of wine. Shuffling sounded from one of the cells, and she had to squint against the darkness to make out that it was Gendry. She knocked lightly on the cell bars. Gendry sat up, looking at her. "You're the second visitor I've had," he notes.  
"You're quite popular here in the dungeons," she chuckled.  
"Do you know the older man?" Gendry asked.  
"Seen him. Haven't spoken to him," Emmelyne replied.  
Ser Davos Seaworth was one of Stannis's most loyal men. He was older, with gray hair and a messy beard. He had bright blue eyes. As a punishment for smuggling, Stannis had cut off the tips of four the fingers on his right hand. "He spoke to me. Seemed kind," Gendry said.  
The bars were spaced just far enough for Emmelyne her to be able to put her hand through. "You want some wine?" she asked.  
She saw Gendry's eyes go wide. "Yes, I do," he stated.  
With a soft chuckle, she handed him the cup through the bars. "How'd you manage to sneak wine down here?" he asked, taking a long drink.  
"It was quite easy, actually. The guard that was meant to be watching you is passed out drunk," she explained.  
"Has Melisandre told you what she's going to do to me?"  
"No. I'm sorry, Gendry. If she had, I would tell you. She doesn't trust me, I don't think."  
"To be honest, I wouldn't trust you either. You decide to join her without a second thought, you bring along your direwolf, and you start asking too many questions. I'd think you were out your mind."  
Emmelyne laughed at this. "I can take back the wine, you know."  
"Please, don't," Gendry replied.  
"I'm not that cruel. I did have second thoughts about coming here, to tell the truth. But Arya wanted you safe."  
Gendry nodded slightly. "I once told Arya she was unladylike. She pushed me. I think that describes how well we get along."  
Emmelyne smiled. "I'll keep you as safe as I can, Gendry. But I do have limits."  
"Just do your best."  
She bit her lip, nodding. "I'll try."  
Back in her room, Emmelyne sat on her bed, brushing out her hair. It was an untamed mess, tangled and dirty. She had bathed multiple times, but her hair remained in ruins. A pair of scissors sat on her bedside table; she'd needed them to trim the skirt of one of the dresses she'd borrowed. Without thinking, she picked up the scissors. In one swift movement she sent locks of her black hair sailing to the ground. She kept cutting, feeling with her hands to make everything even. When she finally decided she had finished, her hair hung to chin length. She smiled, pleased with herself for managing such a well done haircut. But her smile quickly faded when the bells began ringing. She closed her eyes, and in the darkness she saw. _Robb was riding a horse. No, he was tied to the horse. And it wasn't just Robb. It was some strange creature with Robb's body and Grey Wind's head. And he was dead. All around him men were chanting. "The King in the North!"  
And she saw her mother. Her throat cut to the bone, her skin pale and bloated as she floated along a river. Dried blood caked the parts of her that had not yet submerged in the water.  
Robb's men, every one of them, was dead. There was a young woman, her stomach round with child. Her brown eyes staring at nothing, blood pouring from her stomach. Emmelyne did not recognize this woman, but her heart ached all the same.  
Walder Frey, sat at his high table, smiling at the massacre that had unfolded in his hall.  
Musicians singing. "And now the rains weep o'er his hall, with no one there to hear."_  
When Emmelyne returned to reality, her hands were shaking. She was unsure if this had been a vision or a glimpse of something that had already unfolded. Her mind drifted back to a vision she had had when she was still in Winterfell. _This man was sad, and frightened. In place of a his human head, there was the head of a direwolf, snarling and growling. "Em! Please, Em!" a familiar voice cried._  
She knew now that this man must have been Robb. She'd never had the same vision twice. A knock sounded at her door. Emmelyne knew. "Come in," she said, her voice wavering.  
The door opened, and Ser Davos Seaworth stepped inside. His blue eyes were filled with sorrow as he looked upon her. "King Stannis would like me to inform you that your brother's rebellion has failed," he said.  
He looked pained, almost as if he didn't want to be telling her this. "Walder Frey, with the help of Roose Bolton and the Lannisters, has slaughtered his troops. Stannis would also like me to tell you... Robb has died. Your mother was killed, as well. Robb's wife, Talisa, was killed, along with their unborn child."  
Emmelyne nodded weakly. "I know," she said. "I saw it."  
That didn't lessen the blow. Emmelyne had never shown her love to her siblings or her mother. But she did love them, somewhere within her heart. "I'm sorry for your loss, Lady Stark," Davos offered.  
"Thank you, Ser Davos," she murmured.  
Tears began to sting her eyes. Davos looked uncomfortable. "You may go," she told him.  
The moment he left the room, she broke down in tears. R'hllor slowly crawled up to her, resting his head on her lap. She managed a weak smile, patting him slowly. "We'll burn them, my pet. All of them. The Freys, the Boltons, the Lannisters. They all will feel the pain my family went through," she vowed.


	31. Chapter Thirty: Letter to No One

Emmelyne stood among the people, watching Melisandre make a sacrifice. "Hear us now," the Red Lady said. "Accept these tokens of our faith, my lord, and lead us from the darkness."  
"Sire, I served you well," a man cried from his pyre.  
The crowd began chanting, and Emmelyne joined in. "Lord of Light, show us the way..." they said.  
"Selyse, you're my sister!" the man cried.  
Selyse didn't care. They continued their chant. "Yours are the stars that guide us."  
"Tell him! Tell him!"  
"Lord of Light, protect us, for the night is dark and full of terrors," Melisandre said, her voice overpowering the pleads for mercy.  
The fires rose higher, igniting the sacrifices with a brilliant glow. R'hllor pawed at the sand, his blue eyes glowing in the light of the flames. The screams slowly faded into silence. Selyse, Stannis's wife, took her husband by the arm. "Did you see? Their souls. It was their souls. Our lord took them. Did you see?" she asked, smiling.  
Stannis slid free of his wife's grip, turning and walking away. Davos followed. Selyse, Melisandre, Emmelyne, and R'hllor joined as well. "Did you see, ser Davos? They're with our lord, now. Their sins all burned away. Did you see?" Selyse grinned.  
"I'm sure they're more than grateful, my queen," Davos replied.  
Selyse walked on. Melisandre smiled at Davos, but kept walking. Emmelyne stopped. "I didn't like it either. But R'hllor is my god, and anything done in his name is good," she said.  
"Your family worshipped the Old and the New gods. Was there ever a time when you did the same?" Davos asked.  
She smiled, nodding slightly. "When I was much younger, I worshipped the Old gods of my father."  
"Did those gods ever answer your prayers?"  
"No. R'hllor, however, does answer them. Let the light find you, Ser Davos. I can guarantee, R'hllor will give you more than the Old and the New can give you."  
Davos nodded stiffly, not answering.  
At supper, Emmelyne was quiet. She barely ate, drinking wine and feeding scraps to R'hllor, who sat beneath the table. Stannis sniffed at the meat on his fork. "Meat's off," he stated, sliding the plate away from himself.  
Selyse looked at him. "Our larders are almost empty."  
"Serve fish, then. We're on an island."  
"You hate fish."  
"I hate a good many things, but I suffer them all the same."  
Selyse sighed. "When Storm's End was under siege and I was starving, Stannis boiled soup for me from books. The binding glue is made from horses. One morning, he shot two seagulls on the beach. I've never tasted anything as good as grilled seagull. Do you remember?" she asked Stannis.  
"Of course I remember," Stannis stated.  
Selyse nodded slightly, looking at Melisandre. "Have you ever known true hunger, my lady?" she questioned.  
"It's all I knew when I was a child," Melisandre said.  
"Until you found the Lord of Light?"  
"Until he found me."  
They all went quiet for a moment. Selyse broke the silence, however. "I fear for our daughter's soul," she said.  
"Every mother should fear for her child's soul," Melisandre replied.  
"She's a stubborn little beast."  
"She's a child," Stannis stated.  
"You barely know her. You think she's sweet because she smiles when you visit. She's sullen and stubborn and sinful. Why else would the Lord of Light have seen fit to mark her face? She needs the rod," Selyse said simply.  
Emmelyne went stiff at the idea of a mother hurting her own child. "She's my daughter. You will not strike her," Stannis said.  
"As you command. Perhaps the Lady Melisandre could speak with her," Selyse offered.  
Melisandre didn't answer.  
After supper, Emmelyne returned to her room. She sat on her bed, running her fingers through her freshly cut hair. The thought of Arya's reaction went to her mind. Arya would love the shorter hair. She was always complaining that Emmelyne let it get far too long. And she was right; Emmelyne hadn't had a proper haircut since she was six.  
She wanted to write to Sandor. That was the only thing she could think about. But she didn't know where he was or what he was doing. She needed something to do with her hands. A quill and parchment was set out on her table, there for this purpose of writing to someone. She bit down on her lip before starting to write.  
 _Sandor,  
It is with only the sole intention of needing someone to speak to that I write this letter. I do not know where I will send this, perhaps I will simply burn it. With a heavy heart I must bear guilt to my sister, Arya. I promised her I'd keep her friend, the young man Gendry, safe. As I write this I do not know where he is; I know only that Ser Davos Seaworth has saved him from the things Melisandre wished upon him. But Gendry is the least of my worries now. I am on Dragonstone as I write this, and while the island is beautiful, the people are filled with hatred and spite. Selyse Baratheon, Stannis's wife, is a cruel and capricious woman who wishes to beat her only child. Stannis is a man of many complaints. The Lady Melisandre is a dark and otherworldly thing. Ser Davos Seaworth appears to be the only kind person here, though I not met the Princess Shireen in my time here. Even now, after the vague kindnesses some of these people have shown me here, I fear for my life. Of course, I'll fear death everywhere I go. I miss you.  
Yours, Emmelyne Stark._  
She stared down at the letter, chewing her lip in thought. After a moment of thinking, she folded it in her hands, tucking it into the sleeve of her dress.


	32. Chapter Thirty-One: Killer

They were going to be leaving. Emmelyne was unsure of when, but they'd be going North. To the Wall. Stannis wanted Mance Rayder, the King-Beyond-the-Wall, to bend the knee to him. R'hllor seemed anxious, pacing the room, whimpering like mad. She knew that this trip to the Wall wasn't going to end well. Shireen, Stannis's daughter, would be joining them. She hadn't even met the girl yet, though she knew that Shireen's chambers were near her own. Without taking the time to think her idea through, she left her chambers, starting to make her way down the hall with R'hllor at her feet.  
Once she reached Shireen's chambers, she rapped at the door with her knuckles. "Come in," a kind voice answered.  
She opened the door, her eyes falling upon a child. The girl was around thirteen. She had long, blonde hair. Her eyes were brown, her face round. She smiled kindly, but even her smile couldn't hide the marks on her face. The girl had been infected with greyscale, a horrible disease that turned the skin dead and hard. Once it had covered the skin, it did the same to the insides, slowly rotting the person away, driving them insane until it finally killed them.  
But Shireen had been healed. Stannis had scoured the ends of the world to find someone to save his daughter, and someone had succeeded.  
"Princess Shireen," Emmelyne greeted.  
Shireen's eyebrows furrowed. "I don't know you," she said.  
"Nor would you," Emmelyne replied. "My name is Emmelyne Stark. I've been staying here on Dragonstone with your family."  
"Your father was Ned Stark," Shireen noted.  
Emmelyne nodded slightly. "Yes, he was."  
"Why are here?"  
"I wanted to meet you, Princess."  
R'hllor stepped forward, his ears perking up. "Is that a direwolf?" Shireen questioned, her eyes going wide.  
Emmelyne chuckled. "Yes, he is. You can pet him, if you want. He won't hurt you."  
Shireen straightened. R'hllor made his way up to the bed, and she reached out, slowly patting his red fur. "Does he have a name?" Shireen asked.  
"R'hllor," Emmelyne replied.  
The wolf looked up at Shireen, licking her cheek. "He likes you," Emmelyne said.  
Shireen smiled. "He's beautiful."  
Emmelyne nodded. "He is. You're beautiful as well, Princess."  
"I'm really not."  
"The Lord of Light saw fit to give you your marks. Anything done by the Lord of Light must be good. Your marks do not lessen your beauty."  
"Thank you," Shireen said softly.  
"You don't need to thank me," Emmelyne replied.  
Shireen smiled at Emmelyne. "You're nice. I don't get many visits here, Father and the Onion Knight mostly. Davos is nice, but Father... it's not that he's mean, he's just tired. Mother never visits me. The Red Woman visited me once. I don't like the Red Woman very much."  
Emmelyne chuckled. "I don't like her that much, either, My Princess. But she worships the same god as I do."  
Shireen nodded slightly. "The Lord of Light," she said.  
"Exactly."  
"I don't exactly worship any gods. But if I had to, I'd worship the Seven."  
"Your father worships R'hllor, as does your mother. Why not you?"  
Shireen looked sad now. "The Red Woman burned my uncle, Axel. She said it was your lord's wish. She said that she was cleansing him. How would that would cleanse someone? If your god needs good people to be burned to death, then he's not a good god."  
"None of the gods are good, My Princess. There are simply gods that are more evil than others."  
"Then R'hllor is one of the more evil ones."  
Emmelyne smiled at the child. "You're too smart for you own good, Princess Shireen."  
She looked at her direwolf, who was nuzzling against the princess's leg. "Come, R'hllor," she instructed.  
The wolf leaped into action, hurrying to her side. Shireen stared at Emmelyne. "Goodnight," she offered.  
"The night is dark and full of terrors," Emmelyne replied.  
She turned, closing the door behind her.  
That night, while she slept, Emmelyne had a vision.  
 _There was a woman, almost as big as Sandor, short blonde hair and blue eyes. She was shouting, one word. "Arya!"  
Emmelyne didn't recognize this woman, but she recognized the small form of her younger sister, hidden in the rocks. As the big woman left, along with a young man, Arya climbed down from her hiding spot. She made her way down a hill. At the base of it lied Sandor, beaten a bloody. He tried his best to support his weight with his arms, slowly trying to drag himself up the rocks. Arya stepped down to his side, her hand on her sword as she sat down. Sandor looked at her, panting as the blood ran into his mouth. "You still here?" he asked.  
He coughed, spitting up more of the sticky red. There was a large gash in his leg. Arya didn't speak. "Big bitch saved you," he stated.  
"I don't need saving," Arya replied.  
"No, not you. You're a real killer. With your water dancing, and your Needle."  
"You gonna die?"  
"Unless there's a maester hiding behind that rock, aye, I'm done. I'd skin you alive for wine."  
Arya reached for the skin that was hooked to her, but he shook his head. "Fuck water," he stated.  
He managed a laugh as he took in his wounds. "Killed by woman. I bet you like that. Go on, go after. She'll help you."  
Arya shook her head slowly. "Going at it alone," he said, "you won't last a day out there."  
"I'll last longer than you," Arya shrugged.  
Sandor gasped for breath a few more times, looking at Arya again. "You remember where the heart is?" he asked.  
Arya nodded. "Fuck it," Sandor stated. "I'm ready. Go on, girl. Another name off your list. You kept promising me."  
Arya just stared at him. He needed to make her angry. "I cut down your butcher's boy," he snapped. "The ginger. He was begging for mercy. 'Please, Ser. Please don't kill me. Please, please.' Bled all over my horse. Saddle stunk of butcher's boy for weeks."  
Arya still made no move. "And your sister. Not the redhead, the dark haired one. The one I was with. Your pretty sister. I should have taken her. Any of those nights I was with her, any of those nights when it was just us in a forest somewhere. I should fucked her bloody. She'd have liked it, you know. The way she stared at me. At least I'd have one happy memory."  
But even this got no reaction from Arya. Sandor was crying. He looked at her, letting out a few shuddering breaths. "Do I have to beg you? Do it. Do it. Do it."  
His voice broke with each plead. Arya slowly stood up. She kept her hand on her sword, staring down at Sandor. She lowered, taking the purse of coins that hung from his armor. He turned, trying to take the purse from her hands. But she stood, and his arm fell limply to the ground. Then she just walked past his limp form. "Kill me," he stated.  
She just ignored him. "Kill me!" he begged.  
"Kill me! Kill me!"  
Even as his shouts grew louder, echoing through the hills, Arya walked on. _


	33. Chapter Thirty-Two: The Wall

Emmelyne had barely had a moment to take in the Wall once they arrived. She was rushed to a room so Stannis could speak to Jon in private. She hadn't even gotten a chance to see Jon. She was sure that Stannis had notified Jon that she was with him, but she knew that both men had other matters to attend to.  
The room that she'd been put up in was small, made of wood, with a bed that creaked when she sat on it. R'hllor had run off to play with his brother, Ghost, out in the snow. Emmelyne was all alone. She slid the letter she had written out of her sleeve. She kept thinking about the vision.  
Sandor was dying. She wasn't sure if he were alive or dead, if her vision had already happened or if it was the future. All she knew was that Sandor was injured, horribly injured, and Arya had left him to die. He had said something, one thing that kept repeating in her mind. _And your sister. Not the redhead, the dark haired one. The one I was with. Your pretty sister. I should have taken her. Any of those nights I was with her, any of those nights when it was just us in a forest somewhere. I should have fucked her bloody. She'd have liked it, you know. The way she stared at me. At least I'd have one happy memory._  
She didn't know what that meant, _the way she stared at me._ She never stared at him, did she? Emmelyne didn't know what to think. She didn't know when this vision had happened or would happen, and she didn't know where Sandor and Arya were when it occurred. She sighed, smoothing her hands on her skirt. "These visions are going to be the death of me," she muttered.  
Outside, she heard R'hllor howling.  
Emmelyne was about to go to bed when she heard a knock at her door. "Come in," she said.  
The door opened, and Jon stepped inside. In mere seconds, Emmelyne threw at herself at her half-brother, wrapping her arms around him in the tightest embrace she could muster. "I've missed you," she breathed out into his shoulder.  
Jon was surprised. He patted her back, giving her a kind squeeze in return. "I've missed you, too, Em," he murmured.  
She looked up at him, laughing weakly. "Never let me leave ever again," she stated.  
He nodded slightly. "Alright, I won't. What in the hells happened to you?"  
"Too much to tell right now. Far too much. I've been from King's Landing, to the Riverlands, to Dragonstone, and now to the Wall. I've met the Queen, I've traveled with Sandor Clegane, I've met the Brotherhood without Banners, and I'm finally seeing my brother again after... how long has it been? Two, three years?"  
Jon smiled. "I'll let you rest, Emmelyne. But you're going to have to tell me your stories someday."  
"Of course I will, Jon."  
The two shared a smile as Jon left the room.  
Emmelyne lied in her bed, trying to fall asleep. R'hllor sat at the door, whimpering. "Fine," she finally stated.  
She threw the blankets off of herself, sighing as she smoothed her skirt. In the darkness she found her cloak, black in color with a fur trim. She pulled it around herself, opening the door and looking down at R'hllor. "Are you coming?" she questioned.  
The direwolf leapt into action, sprinting out into the yard. Emmelyne followed, looking around. Snow blanketed the ground, icy crystals shimmering on the rotted wood that Castle Black was built from. While R'hllor ran around the yard, sniffing and marking everywhere he went, Emmelyne moved toward the gates. A young man sat there, waiting to let people out beyond the Wall. He was half asleep, a skin of wine in his hands. Emmelyne didn't know how he could drink the stuff; the Night's Watch was known for many things, but their skills at winemaking were not among them. She'd tried to get down a cup of it, but had finally shifted to water instead. In the darkness and with her black cloak, the drunken young man must've mistaken her for a brother of the Watch. "Going out?" he questioned.  
Emmelyne bit her lip, looking toward R'hllor, who watched her from his spot in the dirt. She looked back to the brother, nodding. "Yeah," she said.  
He straightened, turning the crank and letting the gates open. "When'll you be back?" he asked.  
"I won't be out long," Emmelyne replied.  
She stepped out beyond the Wall, the wind whipping her cloak and skirt. A small flurry of snowflakes drifted along, falling in her hair and eyelashes. She started walking, lifting her skirt as to not let it get wet. Honestly, she didn't know where she was going, but she let her feet carry her further and further.  
Finally, she reached a weirwood tree. She noted the laughing face carved into it, labeling it a heart tree. Her fingers brushed along the bark, touching the sap that leaked from the eyes, red as blood. She lowered, sitting down at the roots of the tree, leaning against the trunk. A red leaf drifted down, settling in her hair. She felt content, safe and at ease. The sound of footsteps crunched nearby her, and she stiffened, looking around. Her eyes fell on two men, brother's of the Watch. One of them smiled. "What's a girl like you doing in a place like this?" he questioned.  
"I was looking around. I'm with Stannis Baratheon," Emmelyne stated, slowly getting to her feet.  
"Oh, we know who you are. You're Jon Snow's pretty little sister. The Demon of Winterfell, they call you," the other man chuckled.  
Suddenly, she felt hands gripping tightly to her shoulders. A third man had joined. She felt his warm breath on her skin as he spoke. "What do you boys think of her?" he asked.  
The first man stepped up to her, taking her face in his hand. He smiled. "I think she's perfect," he said.  
"Let me go," Emmelyne commanded.  
"Now, why would we do that?" the second man teased.  
The third man suddenly ripped her cloak from her shoulders, throwing it to the ground. "Let me go!" Emmelyne repeated, wrenching herself free of his grip.  
The first man roared with laughter, taking her by the hips. "You're a pretty little thing, aren't you?" he smirked.  
She fought in his grip, the tearing of fabric filling her ears. A cold wind swept across her legs, and she quickly realized that her dress was torn. "You're going to regret this," Emmelyne snapped.  
"We haven't been with a pretty girl like you in months. We aren't going to regret anything."  
The third man shoved her from behind, letting her hit the ground. She twisted, pulling the remnants of her dress around her legs. "Stop!" she pleaded.  
One of them laughed coldly. "Hold her down," he instructed the others, who quickly did as told.  
He began undoing his belt, when suddenly he started to scream. Fire burst up from the depths of his chest. Emmelyne's eyes widened. The screams surrounded her as fire shot up into the sky. She managed to get to her feet, sobbing as she stared at the burning corpses of the men. With shaking fingers she picked up her cloak, running back for the gates.


	34. Chapter Thirty-Three: The King

Emmelyne stood in Castle Black's yard, watching Jon train a young boy. He was around fourteen, with dark hair and dark eyes. He was tall and skinny, but not very fast. Jon managed to knock him down, the boy glaring from beneath his shield. Ghost and R'hllor lied in the dirt together, fighting lazily over a bone. Jon smiled as he helped up the boy. "Come," he said. "Try it again. Drive at me. Keep your shield up. Or I'll ring your head like a bell."  
Emmelyne's gaze drifted to the rack of bows in the corner of the yard. A barrel of arrows stood beside it, and a row of targets was across from it. "Shouldn't you be training, too?" a girl asked one of the brothers as she sewed a dress.  
The girl was pretty, with long dark hair and brown eyes. She had large front teeth. The man she spoke to was large and round, with short black hair and brown eyes, as well as the start of a beard. "Well, I'm hardly a new recruit," he replied.  
His voice seemed to always hold some level of anxiety. The girl looked up at him quizzically. "How many brothers can say that they've killed a white walker and a Thenn? I might be the first in history," he chuckled.  
Emmelyne smiled at the interaction. It seemed the man wanted to impress the girl. Emmelyne looked back at the bows, finally giving in to her desire. She stepped over to the rack, choosing a bow and picking up an arrow. A few brothers turned to look at her, some laughing and others completely interested. Jon watched as well, waiting to see what she could do. With all eyes on her, Emmelyne knew she needed to impress everyone or be mocked for the rest of her time at Castle Black. She nocked the arrow, aimed, and loosed. The arrow flew, hitting just above the center. She smirked, picking up another arrow. Nock, aim, loose. This time, the arrow hit the center. Jon chuckled as he moved to her side. "Where'd you learn to do that?" he questioned.  
"When I was with the Brotherhood, their archer, Anguy, trained me," she replied.  
Jon nodded. "Well, it's impressive, I'll give you that."  
Emmelyne felt eyes on her, and when she turned, she noticed a man. He was older, with thinning white blond hair and a matching beard. He watched her with piercing blue eyes that felt like they could see into her soul. "Who's that?" she asked  
"Alliser Thorne," Jon replied. "Don't mind him. He hates everybody."  
Emmelyne nodded. Jon smiled a little, patting her shoulder. "Well, I'll leave you to your arrows. I've got to get back to training Olly."  
"Alright," Emmelyne agreed.  
He offered her one more smile before making his way back over to the young boy, Olly. Emmelyne managed to tune out his instructions, nocking another arrow. But then she saw Melisandre behind Jon. She hadn't even seen the Red Woman walk over. It was like she had appeared out of thin air. "The king wants a word," Melisandre told Jon.  
She smiled before walking away. Emmelyne turned slowly back to the target. She aimed, biting her lip as she loosed the arrow into the center.  
Once night fell, everyone stood, waiting for Mance Rayder's execution. He was to be burned at the stake. Two guards led him out, and Emmelyne looked him over. He was older, but not extremely old. His hair was on the long side, dark and kept swept back away from his face. His eyes were dark. Gray hairs formed the start of a messy beard on his chin. Emmelyne watched as he eyed his pyre, not saying a word. Stannis looked at him. "Mance Rayder, you've been called the King beyond the Wall. Westeros only has one king. Bend the knee, I promise you mercy."  
Mance looked from Stannis, to the band of wildlings that stood nearby, then to Jon. "Kneel and live," Stannis stated.  
Mance finally spoke. "This was my home for many years. I wish you good fortune in the wars to come."  
Stannis smiled slightly, nodding his head. The two guards turned Mance toward the pyre. Emmelyne found herself wanting to know more about the King beyond the Wall. And as he looked upon the pyre that would ultimately cause his demise, she saw fear in his eyes. The guards tied him to the wooden stake. Melisandre stepped forward. "We all must choose," she said. "Man or woman, young or old, lord or peasant, our choices are the same. We choose light or we choose darkness. We choose good or we choose evil. We choose the true god or the false."  
She stepped to the side, taking a torch from a man who stood to the side. Mance stared straight ahead, defiance showing clear on his face. "Free folk," Melisandre acknowledged, "there is only one true king and his name is Stannis. Here stands your king of lies. Behold the fate of those who choose the darkness."  
She turned to Mance, and Emmelyne knew instantly that she wasn't going to let this man suffer the horrible death of burning. She pushed through the crowd, moving to the rack of bows. Her fingers curled around polished wood, her grip so tight that her fingertips turned white. She grabbed an arrow; she knew she needed one killing shot. Melisandre ignited the pyre. Emmelyne adjusted herself, nocking the arrow, aiming. Mance was shaking, his breathing ragged. Emmelyne stood stiffly, waiting for the flames to grow higher. Mance let out a series of gasps, panic increasing with each breath. Emmelyne loosed the arrow.  
It flew straight, going cleanly through his eye, sticking into the wood behind him. He slumped forward, dead. Everyone spun around to face her. Jon caught her eye, and he gave her a stiff nod. She had done a good job. Her fingers were numb as she released the bow, the wood clattering to the floor. Without a word she turned, walking off in the direction of her room.


	35. Chapter Thirty-Four: Lord Commander

Emmelyne stood before Stannis, who wished to punish her for what she'd done. "I ordered Mance Rayder burned at the stake," he said. "You prevented that order from being carried out. You showed mercy to Mance Rayder. A king's word is law. Perhaps you should ask Ser Davos how much mercy I show to lawbreakers."  
Emmelyne's fingers curled into fists. "Show too much kindness, people won't fear you. If they don't fear you, they don't follow you," Stannis.  
"With respect, King Stannis, Aerys Targaryen used fear to his advantage and look what happened to him. In fact, Aerys liked to burn men alive, too. You want the wildings to follow you? They won't."  
"Who, then? You? Your brother?"  
"No. One of their own."  
Stannis sighed, pushing a letter toward Emmelyne. "Do you know this wretched girl? Lyanna Mormont," he stated.  
"A relative of Jeor Mormont, I'm guessing."  
"His niece. Lady of Bear Island and a child of ten. I asked her to commit her house to my cause. That's her response."  
Emmelyne opened the letter, confused as to why this pertained to her. "'Bear Island knows no king but the King in the North, whose name is Stark,'" she read off, squinting at the messy writing with a soft chuckle.  
"Something funny to you?" Stannis demanded.  
"Apologies, King Stannis. Northerners can get stubborn. Loyal to their own, mostly," Emmelyne explained.  
"I know. My brother Robert went on often and loudly about how difficult it was to control them. Even with your father's help."  
Emmelyne nodded slightly. "Pardon, Your Grace, but I don't see why you've shown me this letter."  
Stannis looked at Davos, then back to Emmelyne. "There is no 'King in the North' anymore. Robb is dead, Jon is a bastard, Bran and Rickon are dead. You're the eldest remaining child of Eddard Stark. You're all that's left. You could have power if you wanted it. Tell me, Lady Stark, do you want that power?"  
Emmelyne shook her head. "I'll leave controlling northerners to you, Your Grace."  
Stannis nodded a bit. "You're free to go," he muttered. "Send in your brother."  
"Of course," Emmelyne said.  
She turned, leaving the room quietly.  
Emmelyne stood at the back of the hall. The Night's Watch was voting in a new Lord Commander. "Crowded," Alliser noted. "You'd think we were serving venison stew."  
This brought forth some laughter from the small crowd gathered near Alliser. Maester Aemon, a frail, nearly blind old man with thinning white hair, stood from his seat. He cleared his throat to get everyone's attention. "Does anyone wish to speak for candidates before we cast our tokens for the 998th Lord Commander of the Night's Watch?" he questioned.  
A man stood up. Emmelyne knew him to be Janos Slynt, and he was once the commander of the City Watch in King's Landing. "Ser Alliser Thorne is not just a knight," he stated, "he's a man of true nobility. He was acting Commander when the Wall came under attack and led us to victory against the wildlings."  
A chorus of agreements surrounded Janos, who continued his speech. "He's a veteran of 100 battles and has a defender of the Watch and the Wall almost all of his life. He's the only true choice."  
Cheers rose up, and men began pounding the tables. Another man stood, one Emmelyne did not know. He waved a hand toward another brother. "Ser Denys Mallister joined the Watch as a boy and has served loyally longer than any other ranger. Through 10 winters he served. As commander of the Shadow Tower, he kept the wildlings away. We could do no better."  
More cheers and table pounding. "If there is no one else," Aemon said, "we will begin the voting. The triangular tokens count for Ser Alliser Thorne. The square tokens Ser Denys Mallister. Each brother will- -" he began.  
"Maester Aemon," the round man, who Emmelyne learned was named Sam, stated.  
Everyone turned in their seats, eyeing Sam with disdain. "Samwell Tarly," Aemon acknowledged. "Go on."  
Jon shook his head at his friend, urging Sam to be quiet. "Sam the Slayer," Janos joked.  
Laughter. "Another wildling lover just like his friend Jon Snow. How's your lady love, Slayer?" Janos mocked.  
Sam didn't take the joke. "Her name is Gilly. Brother Slynt knows her quite well. They cowered together in the larder during the battle for the Wall."  
Now the laughter was directed to Janos, who took an immediate offense. "Lies!" he cried.  
"A wilding girl, a baby, and Lord Janos. I found him there after the battle was over in a puddle of his own making," Sam continued, and even Emmelyne couldn't contain her chuckle. She even noticed Aemon smiling.  
"Whilst Lord Janos was hiding with the women and children," Sam said, grateful of the laughing, "Jon Snow was leading. Ser Alliser fought bravely, it is true. And when he was wounded it was Jon who saved us. He took charge of the Wall's defense. He killed the Magnar of the Thenns. He went north to deal with Mance Rayder, knowing it almost certainly meant his own death. Before that, he led the mission to avenge Lord Commander Mormont. Mormont himself chose Jon to be his steward. He saw something in Jon and now we've all seen it, too. He may be young, but he's the commander we turned to when the night was darkest."  
Cheers and table pounding. Emmelyne tipped her cup toward Sam, smiling appreciatively at him. But Jon looked surprised when they continued cheering, the loudest it had been for anybody. "I can't argue with any of that," Alliser said, standing. "But who does Jon Snow want to command? Night's Watch or the wildlings? Everyone knows he loved a wildling girl and spoke with Mance Rayder many times. What would have happened in that tent between those two old friends if Stannis's army hadn't come along? We all saw his sister put the King-beyond-the-Wall out of his misery. It can assumed he gave her the order to do that. Or if you don't believe that, what about when he brought a dead wildling girl beyond the Wall? Do you want to choose a man who has fought the wildlings all his life or a man who makes love to them?" he demanded.  
Aemon slowly got to his feet. "It is time," he said.  
Little by little, brothers of the Watch stepped forward, dropping a token into a jug. Emmelyne moved to sit at Jon's side, glaring at anyone who tried to take her seat. She squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. "Do you want to be Lord Commander?" she asked, but he did not answer.  
Finally, once the voting was done, the jug was smashed open. The different shaped tokens were lined up on tall sticks of wood, as to see how many votes each candidate had. Everyone watched with baited breath, and Emmelyne squeezed Jon once more. Once all the tokens were stacked, it was Aemon's turn to cast a vote. Alliser and Jon were tied, and Denys had the least amount of votes. Emmelyne presumed that Aemon would either Alliser or Jon; he'd be the deciding factor. A brother leaned over, whispering to Aemon. "It appears to be a tie, Maester," he said.  
Aemon leaned forward, groaning slightly as he got to his feet. He felt the stacks of tokens, figuring out which belonged to who. Then, he slid a circular token onto it's stack. Jon was the new Lord Commander. At first there was a silence, and then cheering broke out among the men. Emmelyne smiled, looking at Jon. He seemed surprised, his eyes widening as he let out a chuckle. "You won," she laughed.  
"Jon Snow!" the men began to chant, and Emmelyne joined in.  
Jon stood, embracing Sam tightly before looking out at the people. Alliser and his group of friends were the only men not clapping. Aemon smiled as he sat back down, and Emmelyne decided that she liked the old man. As the cheers and clapping settled down, Emmelyne looked at Jon. "Congratulations," she said.  
"Thank you, little sister," he nodded.


	36. Chapter Thirty-Five: Mercy

Emmelyne began spending her time in Castle Black's library. She read everything of interest to her and even things that weren't. If she wasn't in the library, she was speaking to Maester Aemon in his room, and she learned he was a Targaryen. Aemon had had a chance to rule Westeros, to take the Iron Throne, but he had passed it on to his brother, Aegon. She quickly befriended Aemon. They talked about the histories of Westeros, and he answered all of her questions about the Targaryen dynasty. She quite liked the old man. Despite his near blindness, he always seemed to know which books were which when they walked the library together, her leading him along so he wouldn't fall. Sometimes their discussions shifted to Jon, and how he was doing as Lord Commander. Aemon's words were almost constantly filled with praise. Stannis would be leaving at some point, and the Lady Melisandre took visits to Emmelyne's room often, trying to convince her to join them. She refused. Emmelyne would visit Shireen almost nightly, and all the two did together was read. Emmelyne would show the young princess books she'd found in the library, and Shireen was always happy for new reading materials. The two began to work together to teach Gilly, a wildling girl, to read.  
In the meeting room of Castle Black, the chatter was overwhelming. Jon sat in his proper seat at the head table, tapping his fingers impatiently as he waited for quiet. Emmelyne sighed, leaning against the wall. Jon caught Sam's gaze. "Sam?" he said.  
Sam looked up. "Maester Aemon?" Jon questioned, glancing toward the empty seat beside him.  
"He apologizes for not being here," Sam said. "He's not feeling well."  
"Take good care of him."  
Sam nodded. "Brothers," Jon said, and the chatter died down quickly.  
"As you all know too well, it's long past time to dig a new latrine pit," Jon stated.  
This brought forth some laughter. Jon continued. "First Builder Yarwyck and I have decided to appoint a latrine captain to oversee this crucial task."  
Alliser stared at Jon, who smiled at him mockingly before speaking again. "Brian. Seems like a good job for a ginger," he chuckled.  
The men broke in raucous laughter, joking with Brian. "Ser Alliser," Jon said. "You have more experience than any other ranger at Castle Black. You proved your valor many times over while defending the Wall from the wildling attack. I name you First Ranger."  
A small cheer rose above Alliser's little group. Janos leaned forward, patting Alliser's shoulder. "Lord Janos," Jon stated. "I'm giving you command of Greyguard."  
"Greyguard is a ruin," Janos replied stiffly.  
"Yes, the fort is in a sorry state. Restore it as best you can. First Builder Yarwyck can spare 10 of his- -" Jon began.  
"I was charged with the defense of King's Landing when you were soiling your swaddling clothes. Keep your ruin," Janos snapped.  
Men began shouting. "All right, all right! Enough of that," Sam called.  
Everyone went quiet again. Jon looked Janos in the eye. "You mistake me, my lord. That was a command, not an offer. Pack your arms and armor, say your farewells, and ride for Greyguard," he said.  
Janos shoved back his seat, glaring. "I will not go meekly off to freeze and die," he stated. "Give it to one of the fools who cast a stone for you. I will not have it. Did you hear me, boy? I will not have it!"  
"Are you refusing to obey my order?"  
Everyone slowly turned to look at Janos, a deafening quiet overwhelming them. Emmelyne glanced between Jon and Janos. Finally, Janos gave his reply. "You can stick your order up your bastard ass."  
Jon stared at Janos, a calm expression on his face. "Take Lord Janos outside," he instructed.  
A few men stood at this command. Jon looked at his steward. "Olly, bring me my sword," he stated.  
Olly stood next. Janos began to tremble. The men surrounded him, and a man Emmelyne knew to be called Edd, stepped up to him. Alliser moved in front of Janos, blocking Edd's path. But then he stepped aside. Edd grabbed Janos. "Get out," he said.  
"You cannot do this!" Janos cried as he fought against his brothers.  
They dragged him outside, Emmelyne following. Janos continued to protest, spewing forth all manner of insults. As Emmelyne walked, he caught her gaze. "Has the whore put you up to this?! She wants us all dead! She's a witch!" he shouted.  
They led him up onto the steps, where someone placed a log. "I have friends. Important friends in the capitol."  
"Kneel!" Edd stated, forcing Janos to his knees, the man's head slamming against the log.  
R'hllor, frightened by all the confusion, raced over to Emmelyne's side from his spot in the dirt. He reached up to her waist, and she patted him as she stared at Janos. Jon stepped out, Olly handing him his sword. He made his way to Janos, staring the older man down. Without a word he drew his blade. Emmelyne saw Janos's eyes widen with fear. Jon lowered his sword, pressing it to the wood. "If you have any last words, my lord," he said, "now's the time."  
Janos looked at him fearfully. "I was wrong. You're the Lord Commander. We all serve you. I'm sorry. Not only for this, for all I've done and said. I was wrong."  
Jon started to raise his sword, and the pleas grew louder. "My lord, please! Mercy! Mercy! I'll go! I will!" Janos sobbed. "Please. I'm afraid. I've always been afraid."  
Emmelyne saw anger in Jon's eyes, an insatiable anger. And he swung the sword. Janos's head toppled down, rolling toward the edge of the steps. Jon handed his sword over to another man. He looked up, to where Stannis stood, watching. The claimant king gave Jon a nod. Jon looked back at Emmelyne, who offered him a nod as well.


	37. Chapter Thirty-Six: Goodbye

Emmelyne watched the brothers of the Watch as they trained. Selyse and Stannis watched as well, talking to each other quietly. Emmelyne was sat with Shireen, R'hllor at the feet of both girls, gnawing at the bit of rotted wood. "So Jon Snow is your brother?" Shireen asked as they watched.  
"Bastard brother, yes," Emmelyne nodded.  
"Do you know who his mother is?"  
A phrase appeared in Emmelyne's mind. _Promise me, Ned_. She shook her head. "Our father never told anybody. Not even my mother."  
Shireen looked at her quizzically. "Why wouldn't he tell anyone?"  
"I suspect he was ashamed. He never told and nobody ever asked. I suppose Jon's mother is dead. Dead or doesn't care."  
Shireen nodded at this. "My mother doesn't care about it."  
Emmelyne agreed with that, but she wouldn't tell Shireen this. "I'm sure your mother loves you, somewhere in her heart."  
"I don't think so."  
She wrapped her arm around Shireen's shoulder, offering a smile. "Your mother is devout to the Lord of Light, Princess. She cares about you, and she wants you to follow the same god as us all. The Lord of Light will keep you safe, Shireen. When you worship him, fire will never harm you."  
Shireen didn't answer as she leaned into Emmelyne's side. "Are you alright, Princess?" Emmelyne questioned kindly.  
"I wish you'd stop calling me that."  
"What would you have me call you, then?"  
"Shireen."  
Emmelyne chuckled. "Are you alright, Shireen?"  
The princess nodded. "I am. But we're leaving soon. I don't know why Father wants me to come with him. But I don't want to leave."  
"Why don't you want to leave?"  
"I like you. I like teaching Gilly to read. I like Ser Davos. But you're staying here and Gilly's a wildling, she can't come with me. Davos is coming, but I won't be able to speak with him very much. I don't know if I'll ever come back here."  
"I'm not going to stay here forever, Shireen. We'll see each other again. I promise."  
Shireen smiled. "Good."  
Emmelyne sat with Sam and Maester Aemon, listening to Sam read a letter from one of Daenerys Targaryen's supporters. "'And though Daenerys maintains her grip on Slaver's Bay, forces rise against her from within and without. She refuses to leave until the freedom of the former slaves is secure,'" Sam read. "She sounds like quite a woman."  
"And she's alone," Aemon said, "under siege, no family to guide her or protect her. Her last relation thousands of miles away, useless, dying."  
Emmelyne knew it was true. Aemon's sight was growing worse, and he had been absent at many meetings due to an illness. But Emmelyne wasn't sure it was an illness. It was death. She took the old man's hand, offering him a smile. "Don't say that, Maester Aemon," she said.  
"A Targaryen alone in the world is a terrible thing," Aemon stated, shaking his head.  
Jon stepped into the library, and Sam turned to look at him. "Maester Aemon," Jon said.  
"Lord Commander," Aemon greeted.  
"Sam, Em, I'd like to speak to the maester alone."  
Sam and Emmelyne stood. Emmelyne gave Aemon one last smile as she brushed past Jon, leaving the library.  
Jon had an announcement to make. Emmelyne had questioned him on what it was, but he hadn't told her. Now, he'd finally revealed it. And the Watch was not happy. "You'd let wildlings through our gates?" one demanded.  
"Men, women, and children will die by the thousands if we do nothing," Jon stated.  
"Let them die. We got our own to worry about. Less enemies for us."  
This brought forth some cheers. Sam stood from his seat. "Look, well, there is good farmland in the Gift. Land that no one uses now. A dozen abandoned villages," he offered.  
"And why do you think the farmers abandoned those villages? Because the wildlings raided them for years. Cut them down just like they did this boy's people," a man said, pointing toward Olly, who bowed his head.  
Emmelyne didn't like this. Alliser spoke up. "We've been fighting them for thousands of years. They've slaughtered villages. They've slaughtered our brothers."  
"And we've slaughtered theirs," Jon replied.  
Edd, a younger man with long brown hair and dark eyes, stood. "I will follow you anywhere, you know that. But they killed Grenn. And they killed Pyp. They killed 50 of our brothers. I can't forget that. I can't forgive it," he said.  
Jon nodded. "You were at the Fist of the First Men. If we abandon them, you know what they become. We can learn to live with the wildlings or we can add them to the army of the dead. Whatever they are now, they're better than that."  
Everyone began to argue. Emmelyne wasn't sure who she agreed with. She supposed that she didn't care what happened. The room was in complete anarchy. She raised a cup of the terrible wine to her lips, taking a long drink.  
When it was time for Stannis and his men to leave, Emmelyne hurried out to the yard. Shireen caught her gaze, jumping down from her horse and running to the older girl. "I have something for you," the young girl said.  
"What is it?" Emmelyne questioned, smiling.  
Shireen held something in her hands, handing it to Emmelyne. It was a book. Words were emblazoned on the cover, 'The Dance of Dragons.' Emmelyne remembered Shireen telling her it was her favorite book. "Shireen, I cannot take this," Emmelyne said.  
"Please. If you keep it, then you can give it back when we see each other again. I was teaching Ser Davos to read with it. It's very important. I want you to keep it safe while I'm gone."  
"Alright, I'll protect your book for you. I'll miss you, little princess."  
"I'll miss you, too. Make sure you keep teaching Gilly. Next time I see her I want her to be reading as well as you and I."  
"I promise I'll keep teaching Gilly."  
Shireen smiled once more, hugging Emmelyne tightly. "Goodbye," she said.  
"Goodbye," Emmelyne chuckled.  
The princess turned, climbing back onto her horse. As Stannis's party rode away, Emmelyne waved after them. A feeling gnawed away at her. She knew she would never see Princess Shireen ever again.


	38. Chapter Thirty-Seven: Blue Eyes

With Jon about to travel to Hardhome with the wildlings, tensions at Castle Black were running high. Emmelyne couldn't turn a corner without insults trailing her. 'Demon.' 'Whore.' 'Witch.' She didn't take them to heart, however. Maester Aemon's 'illness' grew worse day by day. The day Jon was to leave, Emmelyne found herself in the yard, saying her goodbyes. Jon didn't even speak as he hurried up to her, throwing his arms around her in a tight embrace. "Goodbye," he said.  
"You won't be gone long. This isn't goodbye forever, Jon," she chuckled.  
"I know. But I've got a feeling something will go wrong this trip."  
"Promise you'll come back with all your limbs."  
Jon laughed weakly at this, letting go of his little sister. "I'll try my hardest."  
Silence fell between them, and they shared one more smile before Jon climbed up onto his horse. He cast a glance back to Sam and Emmelyne, riding away.  
That night, in Maester Aemon's room, Gilly held her baby, Sam. Aemon gasped as she lowered the baby to him, letting the old man touch the child's cheek. "There he is," Aemon said with a laugh, his voice weak and thin.  
R'hllor sat beside Gilly on the bed, licking Aemon's hand whenever it drew close to him. Emmelyne smiled as baby Sam giggled and cooed happily. "That laugh," Aemon said. "Egg. Egg laughed like that. One of the first things I remember."  
Gilly looked at Sam quizzically. "His little brother Aegon," Sam explained. "He became king."  
Aemon smiled. "And before that, he was a jolly fellow, like this one."  
Aemon's happy demeanor suddenly faded. His face grew sullen. "Get him south, Gillyflower. Before it's too late."  
He gave a shuddering breath, and Emmelyne moved to him. She sat on the side of his bed, taking his frail hand. She looked at Sam and Gilly with a sad expression. "It's happening fast," she whispered.  
As she held Aemon's hand, it was like she could feel his life slowly draining. Dripping along in a steady pattern, fast as raindrops but yet slower than a snail. She knew completely and fully that Aemon would not last the night. Sam moved to the other side of the bed, taking Aemon's other hand. The small group sat like that for hours, waiting for Aemon to wake again.  
His frail voice called out. "Egg. Egg. Mother's looking for you. Egg."  
Emmelyne felt tears pricking at her eyes. Gilly looked at Sam. "Get some sleep, Sam," she said. "You'll have to speak for him tomorrow."  
"You don't know that," Sam stated.  
The poor man was in denial. "Get some sleep. Emmelyne and I will watch over him," Gilly urged.  
"I'm staying, too. He's always been good to me. I can't leave him now."  
Suddenly, Emmelyne felt Aemon's grip tighten, the force of which a man in his state should not have had. Sam jolted as well, nearly dropping the old man's hand. "Egg!" Aemon cried out.  
His breaths were ragged and labored. These would be his last moments, Emmelyne knew that. Sam knew it. Gilly knew it. Maester Aemon was beyond saving. His blind eyes moved wildly, trying to land on something. When they fell upon baby Sam, it was like he could see one last time. "Egg," he said weakly. "I dreamed... that I was old."  
Sam enclosed Aemon's hand in both of his own. Emmelyne felt the Maester's grip finally slacken one last time. The blue eyes darted once more, landing on Emmelyne. "I don't like your eyes blue. They're prettier gray."  
He took his final breath, his blind eyes staring at the sky. Emmelyne was confused. She had no idea what he meant. She looked at Sam and Gilly. "May I say a prayer? A prayer of my god?" she questioned.  
Sam nodded limply. Emmelyne looked down at Aemon, whispering a death's prayer. "Lord of Light, show us the way. Come to us and lead this man into the light. He was not Your servant, but I hope you will make an exception."  
She laid a kiss to old Maester's forehead, finally succumbing to her tears.  
It was the next morning that they gave Aemon a funeral pyre. As the snow fell down, blanketing the men of Watch in white, Sam spoke. "His name was Aemon Targaryen. He came to us from King's Landing. A maester of the Citadel, chained and sworn, and sworn brother of the Night's Watch, ever faithful. No man was wiser or gentler or kinder. At the Wall, a dozen lord commanders came and went during his years of service, but he was always there to counsel them. He was the blood of the dragon... but now his fire has gone out. And now his watch is ended."  
"And now his watch is ended," everyone echoed.  
Sam slowly leaned forward, igniting a corner of the pyre with his torch. He held back tears, sniffling softly, handing the torch to Alliser, who lit the next corner. Despite her hatred of the man, Emmelyne felt sorry. She saw tears in Alliser's eyes as he handed it to another man, who lit the third corner. A final man lit the last corner. As the brilliant flames leapt into the sky, Emmelyne saw a face. The face of Aemon. The face became his whole form, and he smiled back at her, raising his arms as he danced in the flames. And Emmelyne knew that wherever he was then, he was happy. For the second time in mere hours, she cried. But as the tears fell down her cheeks, she was smiling as well. Aemon was gone, but now, he was free. He beckoned her toward the fire, still grinning. But then he faded away, his smile lingering in Emmelyne's mind. _I don't like your eyes blue. They're prettier gray._


	39. Chapter Thirty-Eight: Our Lord's Will

Emmelyne sat in her room, folding and unfolding the letter she had written to Sandor. She wasn't sure why she'd kept it; Sandor was most likely dead. But it felt comforting to write all of her frustrations and feelings down on paper, even if the person it was intended for never got to see it. Jon had left her supplies to write letters. Barely thinking, she leaned forward, starting to write.  
 _Sandor,_  
 _My travels with Stannis Baratheon have brought me to the Wall. Stannis marches for Winterfell to take back my home from the Boltons, but I remain here with my bastard brother, Jon. I'm safe here, at least, I think I am. The Wall is an interesting place, to say the least. I've befriended a man called Sam and a wildling girl named Gilly. My closest friend here, however, was the Princess Shireen. She's left with her father, and I don't know if I'll ever see her again. I don't know if I'll ever see many people ever again. Jon has gone to the wildling encampment Hardhome. He wishes to allow the wildlings safe passage through the Wall. I'm not sure how I feel about that. Something strange happened my first night here. Three men attacked me. I didn't do anything, but the three of them caught on fire. They all died. I don't know how or why. I had a vision of you and Arya. You were hurt, dying, in pain. Arya left you. As I write this I do not know if you're dead or alive. I'm hoping for the latter._  
 _With love, Em Stark_  
She stared down at the letter, biting down on her lip. Finally, she placed it down on the table with her first letter. R'hllor jumped up onto the bed beside her, and she sighed softly as she kissed his nose. The direwolf licked her cheek. Beside the letters was Shireen's favorite book. A sadness washed over Emmelyne, and she tried her best to ignore it. She curled her self into a ball, R'hllor resting his head on her side. The two fell into a troubled sleep.  
When Emmelyne woke the next morning, Jon was in her room. She jumped. "Holy shit," she breathed out.  
"Sorry," Jon said.  
As her weariness faded, she suddenly realized exactly who was in her room. "Jon!" she cried.  
She stumbled out of the bed, throwing her arms around Jon's neck. He laughed, patting her back gently. "You're alive," she whispered.  
"Did you suspect otherwise?"  
She let go of Jon, laughing weakly. "What happened? You're hurt," she said, looking at the stitches on his forehead.  
His smile faltered, and he let out a long breath. "Hardhome was destroyed."  
Emmelyne furrowed her eyebrows. "Did you fight the wildlings?"  
"No, the wildlings came willingly."  
He swallowed, unsure of what to say. "We were attacked by an army of dead men."  
"Dead men?"  
"White walkers. Others. Wights. They're real."  
"Jon, if you're just joking around with me- -" Emmelyne began.  
"Why would I joke about this? We lost men out there, brothers and wildlings alike. I just- - I just needed to know if you'd had a vision of it."  
"My last vision was a long time ago. I would've warned you if I'd seen anything like that."  
Jon nodded. "Alright. Good. I'll leave you to rest."  
Emmelyne bit her lip, watching Jon make his way to the door. "Jon?" she called softly, and he looked back at her.  
"What?"  
"I'm sorry I didn't see it."  
"You don't need to be sorry."  
He turned again, leaving her room.  
That morning, Sam and Gilly were leaving. Sam was to become a maester of the Citadel. Emmelyne smiled down at Gilly, waving at her. Gilly waved back, though it was somewhat difficult with baby Sam in her arms. Sam waved to Emmelyne, a sad expression on his face. Then, they rode out the gates.  
Back in her room, Emmelyne sat on her bed. All of her friends had left or died. The only one she had left was Jon, and he barely spoke to her. She picked up Shireen's book, tracing her finger along the words on the cover. Maester Luwin had told her about the Dance of Dragons. The battle was between Rhaenyra Targaryen and her half-brother, Aegon. Both of them had thought they deserved the Iron Throne. The kingdoms had divided in half, everyone was taking sides. The Targaryens had never truly recovered from that battle. They'd lost dragons to it, they'd lost people to it, and in the end it hadn't worked out for anybody. Emmelyne found herself wondering why it was called a dance. R'hllor hopped up onto the bed, resting his head on her lap. She smiled down at her pet, sighing. "Good boy."  
Emmelyne was outside when the Red Lady returned. She rode through the gates, no men backing her, no one even with her. She stared at the ground, sullen and quiet. Jon hurried down, Davos at his heels. Emmelyne took a few steps forward, staring at Melisandre. But the Red Lady did not even look her way. She climbed down from her horse, her head still down as she walked, her movements stiff. Her hair was a frizzy mess, and a look of what seemed like a mixture of shock and sadness seemed to overwhelm her face. Jon stepped up to her, Davos and Emmelyne listening to the conversation. "Stannis?" Jon asked.  
Davos quickly moved ahead of Melisandre, stopping her in her tracks. "Shireen?" he questioned. "The princess?"  
Melisandre looked up at him, her blue eyes clouded with tears. And Davos knew. He let out a long, slow breath. Melisandre turned away from him, continuing to walk. Davos and Jon watched her, unmoving. But Emmelyne hurried forward. She grabbed Melisandre by the shoulders. "What happened? How did the princess... is she dead? Please, tell me," she begged.  
Melisandre barely seemed to notice that Emmelyne was holding her. "It was our lord's will," she whispered.  
"What happened? Please, please, I deserve to know that."  
The Red Lady didn't answer for a moment. "She had to die. It was our lord's wish."  
Emmelyne didn't want to hear anymore. She stepped back, tears stinging her eyes, her legs shaking. "No," she said. "No, no. That's not true. It's not true."  
Melisandre kept walking. Emmelyne broke down in her tears, sobbing and gasping. She was enraged. Enraged and sad and just... tired. Her legs collapsed beneath her, and she hit the ground. Her hands scraped across the dirt, stinging as rocks dug into her skin. Jon and Davos stepped toward her. Davos just stared, shock evident on his features. Jon lowered to his sister's side, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. She turned, burying her face in his chest as she cried.


	40. Chapter Thirty-Nine: Traitor

Emmelyne visited Jon in his office that night, her eyes red from crying. She sat down on the edge of Jon's desk, watching as he read over a letter. "Do you want something, Em?" Jon questioned.  
"I didn't want to be alone," she admitted.  
He nodded. "You really liked Shireen, didn't you?"  
"Yes. She was only a child. She was kind and she was good."  
"I'm sorry. It seemed like you two got on well."  
Emmelyne started to speak, when suddenly the door was thrown open. Olly stepped inside, looking around frantically. "Lord Commander," he said. His gaze drifted to Emmelyne and he added, "Lady Emmelyne," as an afterthought.  
He looked at Jon. "It's one of the wildlings you brought back. Says he knows you two's Uncle Benjen. Says he still alive."  
Jon stood, slamming his hands on the table. Emmelyne got to her feet, eyes wide. "Are you sure he's talking about Benjen?" Jon asked.  
"Said he was First Ranger," Olly nodded.  
The two siblings left the room quickly, Emmelyne nearly tripping over herself as they ran. "Said he knows where to find him," Olly continued.  
They left the room, making their way down the steps. Alliser was waiting at the bottom. "Man says he saw your uncle at Hardhome at the last full moon," he told Jon and Emmelyne.  
"Could be lying," Jon stated, while Emmelyne thought about when the last full moon was.  
"Could be. There are ways to find out," Alliser said.  
"Where is he?"  
"Over there."  
A circle of brothers was surrounding something or someone. Jon looked at Emmelyne. "Stay back," he warned as he forced his way through the crowd.  
But once they parted, Emmelyne saw a training dummy. Pinned to the dummy's head was a plank of wood, one word painted across it. _Traitor._ Emmelyne hesitated, taking a few cautious steps back. Jon turned around to face Alliser, and then Emmelyne saw the glint of a dagger as Alliser uttered a phrase, "For the Watch," and shoved the dagger into Jon's side.  
Emmelyne's eyes went wide. Alliser wrenched the knife free, and another man stepped up. "For the Watch."  
Another. "For the Watch."  
All of them, one after the other. At some point Emmelyne saw Jon fall to his knees. She was in shock. Shaking, whimpering, too horrified to move. Jon gasped and choked for air. Olly was the last to step forward. Jon looked up at him, his dark eyes pleading for life. He tried his best to back away. Olly stared down at Jon; this man he had looked up to, the man who had betrayed the Watch, and the man wanted mercy. "Olly..." Jon said weakly.  
His eyes slowly went to Emmelyne. He mouthed out a word as Olly jammed a knife into his heart. _Run._ "For the Watch," Olly said.  
And then Emmelyne ran. At first she didn't know where to go, and then she made her way in the direction of her room. Shouts and taunts followed her, and Alliser's voice rang clear. "First man to catch her is free of his vows for a night!"  
She looked back. Jon lie in the yard, blood starting to pool around him. The group of brothers was at her heels. She got to her room, slamming the door shut behind her, her hands shaking and fumbling as she locked it. R'hllor leaped up from the floor, growling as he moved to his master's side. Emmelyne fell against the door, keeping her back pressed to it as she broke down into tears.  
Outside, Jon lay dying. He stared up at the inky, black sky, unblinking. It hadn't occurred to him that this would happen. He knew they were angry. But he hadn't known they would resort to this. His last thoughts were of Emmelyne. If she was safe with him gone. How she was reacting to what had just happened. And Jon Snow, Ned Stark's bastard, Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, and Emmelyne's Stark's big brother, died.  
Ghost began to howl, a low, mournful sound. At this, R'hllor joined him. The sad howling was like a demented song, ringing in Emmelyne's ears. She tried to drown out the terrible sound, singing some tune she once knew as a child. The Mother's Hymn, but the words forgotten in her mind. "Gentle Mother, font of mercy."  
Emmelyne sat at her door all night. She didn't want to stop crying. But she felt drained. Completely empty. At some point Emmelyne became aware that the pounding on her door had stopped. She wasn't sure when; only some hours later. The sun had started to rise before Emmelyne finally felt calm again. She didn't move from her place at the door, but she started to stroke R'hllor, her hands shaking and pale with fear. The wolf knew that Emmelyne was upset, resting his head on her lap, whimpering sadly. She leaned her head back against the woof of the door, letting out one more sob. "R'hllor, my brother was not your follower, but I pray that you grant him a safe passage to whatever lies beyond. I am your faithful servant and I will do whatever you ask of me, and I'm begging with you now that you let my brother be safe and happy somewhere. And if you are feeling generous, I would ask of you to perhaps bring my brother back."  
Ghost's howling started up again. R'hllor whined, lifting his head before mimicking the sound. She heard a man shout. "It's coming from the courtyard!"  
Her legs starting to shake, she rose to her feet, slowly unlocking the door. The minute the door was opened, R'hllor broke into a sprint into the yard. "It's the Lord Commander!" someone yelled as they ran into the yard.  
Davos stood rooted to his spot, staring down at Jon. Emmelyne slowly moved toward Davos, who turned. "Don't look," he stated.  
She shook her head slowly. "It's alright. I saw it happen."  
Brothers filed out into the yard, staring down at Jon's corpse. Edd shoved his way to the front, staring down at the dead body of his friend. Davos's eyes landed on the dummy. _Traitor._ "Help me get him inside," he said.  
Quickly, three brothers dropped down, lifting Jon's body. Edd hurried off somewhere, and Davos looked at Emmelyne. "Are you alright?" he asked.  
Emmelyne nodded stiffly. "I think so."


	41. Chapter Forty: The Cells

They lied Jon down on the table in his office. Davos took care to close the door as they all gazed upon the Lord Commander. Edd slowly reached out, touching the blood that covered Jon's shirt. His breathing was heavy as he closed Jon's dark eyes. "Thorne did this," he hissed.  
Davos looked at Emmelyne, who nodded slowly, taking Jon's cold hand in her own. "How many of your brothers do you think you can trust?" Davos questioned.  
"Trust?" Edd questioned, looking around. "The men in this room. And Emmelyne."  
"Do the wolves know you?"  
Emmelyne became aware of the howling once more. Edd turned to Emmelyne. "They know her better," he said.  
Davos nodded. "We need all the help we can get. Take Emmelyne and retrieve them both," he instructed.  
So, Emmelyne and Edd turned to leave Jon's office. A knock sounded at the door, and the brothers reacted quickly, drawing their weapons. Edd held Emmelyne back with one arm. "Ser Davos," the voice of Melisandre said through the door.  
Edd hesitated, looking back at Davos. Davos nodded. Edd lowered his sword, stepping forward and opening the door. Melisandre looked up, the sad expression still on her face. And then her eyes landed on Jon. She slowly stepped forward, staring at his corpse. Emmelyne looked at Edd. "I trust you can retrieve the wolves yourself. R'hllor will come when you call him. He's in my room," she said.  
Edd nodded, leaving the office. Emmelyne moved to Melisandre's side. The Red Lady didn't speak for a moment. "I saw him in the flames," she finally said, "fighting at Winterfell."  
"I can't speak for the flames..." Davos noted, "but he's gone."  
Melisandre reached out, pressing her pale hand to Jon's cheek. She drew it away, sighing softly.  
Some of Alliser's men had been stationed outside; weapons at the ready to take down whoever dared attack the small party that made it's way to the office. Alliser made his way up the steps, a group of more men at his back. He knocked at the door, and the men that remained in the office drew their swords. Emmelyne raised a bow Edd had gotten her from the yard, nocking an arrow. The two direwolves growled from their place by the door. Davos slowly stood. Alliser continued knocking. "Ser Davos," he said, "we have no cause to fight. We are both anointed knights."  
"Hear that, lads?" Davos mocked. "Nothing to fear."  
"I will grant amnesty to all brothers who throw down their arms before nightfall. I will allow Emmelyne to do as she pleases. If she wishes to stay here, she will be under my protection. If she wishes to leave, I'll supply her with a horse and some food. And you, Ser Davos, I will allow you to travel south a free man with a fresh horse."  
"And some mutton. I'd like some mutton."  
"What?"  
"I'm not much of a hunter. I'll need some food if I'm gonna make it south without starving."  
There was silence on the other side of the door for a moment. Finally, Alliser answered. "We'll give you food. You can bring the Red Woman with you if you like. Or you can leave her with us, whichever you choose. But surrender by nightfall or this ends with blood."  
Davos answered quickly. "Thank you, Ser Alliser. We'll discuss it amongst ourselves and come back to you with an answer."  
Alliser didn't reply as he and his group of men left. Davos listened, making sure they were gone. "Boys, I've been running from men like that all my life," he said. "In my learned opinion, we open that door."  
"And they'll slaughter us all," one brother stated.  
"They want to come in, they're gonna come in," another added.  
"Aye, but we don't need to make it easy for them," Davos said.  
"Edd is our only chance," a brother said.  
"It's a sad fucking statement if Dolorous Edd is our only chance," the second replied.  
"Stop your fucking bickering," Emmelyne stated. "We have a bigger concern right now than who our chance falls into the hands of."  
Davos hesitated. "There's always the Red Woman."  
"What's one redhead gonna do against 40 armed men?"  
"You haven't seen her do what I've seen her do."  
When it finally reached nightfall, Alliser stood outside the office door. "It's time, Ser Davos," he said. "Open the door and the men inside can rejoin their brothers in peace."  
Emmelyne stood by Jon's body, holding his hand loosely in her own. Davos stared at the door, not answering. Alliser continued. "We'll even set his wolf free north of the Wall where it belongs. And if Emmelyne lets us, the red wolf can go, too."  
Emmelyne's eyes fell on R'hllor, who stood next to Ghost, both watching the door like loyal sentries. "Nobody needs to die tonight," Alliser stated.  
Davos turned to the people in the room. "I've never been much a fighter," he said, moving to pick up Jon's sword, Longclaw.  
When he returned to the door, he looked at them all once more. "Apologies for what you're about to see," he stated, drawing the blade.  
Everyone else followed suit, and Emmelyne nocked an arrow, inching toward the corner of the office. Ghost and R'hllor began to growl again. "Come on," Alliser said from outside.  
A pounding sounded from outside; they were trying to break the door down. Emmelyne promised herself that the first hand to get through the door would get an arrow to the wrist. Splinters shattered from the door, denting it. She could see a hole breaking away. The growling grew louder. A hole came through the door. The man started to swing again, when a thud sounded from outside. The thudding continued, and Alliser's men hurried away from the office, looking toward the gate. In the office, everyone lowered their weapons. Emmelyne moved to look through the hole in the door. A giant, an actual giant, burst through the gates. The giant opened his mouth, shouting. A herd of wildlings raced in at his back, giving a loud battle cry. They backed Alliser's men against the walls. "Attack!" Alliser shouted.  
Some of his men, while rather unwillingly, charged forward. They got taken down quickly. The rest stepped back, not wishing to participate in the fight. "Fight, you cowards!" Alliser roared.  
Someone launched a crossbow bolt into the giant's shoulder. The giant growled, turning and grabbing the man from the battlements. He swung him quickly, slamming the body against the stone wall and throwing it at Alliser's feet. The rest of his men dropped their weapons fearfully. Alliser took a step forward. The wildlings walked up to him, headed by a redheaded man with a beard that Emmelyne knew to be named Tormund. Edd stood at their side. "You fucking traitor," Alliser stated.  
"The only traitors here are the ones who shoved their knives into their Lord Commander's heart," Edd replied.  
"For thousands of years the Night's Watch has held Castle Black against the wildlings."  
Tormund stepped up. "Until you."  
Olly shouted, charging. Tormund simply threw the young boy to the side. Two wildlings held Alliser back as he tried to attack Tormund. Edd looked at them. "Throw them into the cells where they belong," he stated.  
And so the wildlings grabbed the traitors, dragging them off to the cells.


	42. Chapter Forty-One: Aegon

When Edd returned to the office, Tormund was beside him. They both stepped up to Jon. "Took a lot of knives," Tormund noted as he looked over the stab wounds. "I'll have my men get the wood for a fire. Bodies to burn."  
He stepped back from the table, leaving the room. Edd and Davos shared a look before looking back down at Jon.  
When Davos retrieved Melisandre a second time, he went with a hopeful wish that she could somehow bring Jon back. When the two returned, they began the process. It was strange. Melisandre doubted herself, and instead she guided Emmelyne through the steps. It involved stripping down Jon, the only covering a thin cloth. Emmelyne wet a cloth, wiping away the blood from his bare chest. Davos, Edd, and Melisandre watched her closely. Once the blood was cleared away, Emmelyne began the second step. With a pair of scissors she trimmed away Jon's hair, speaking Valyrian that Melisandre had taught her. Each lock of his hair was dropped it into the fire. By the time she was finished, his hair and beard were shorter. She glanced at Melisandre, picking up a pitcher of water and beginning the Valyrian again. Her fingers held his dark locks, pouring the water out over his hair. Once his hair was soaked completely, she stood over his body, placing her hands on his chest with shaking hands. She uttered the final Valyrian phrase. She lifted her hands. Nothing. She lowered them again, lifting them back up. Valyrian once more. And then she whispered to herself, "Lord, cast your light upon this man, my brother. Bring him back from death and darkness. His flame has been extinguished. Restore it. For the night is dark and full of terrors. Please."  
Nothing. No movement, no reaction, not even a single breath. She took a few steps back. "I'm sorry," she said softly to everyone in the room.  
Tormund scoffed, leaving the office. Melisandre gazed at her apologetically, and Davos just stood rooted in place. Edd seemed sad. Melisandre followed Tormund. Then Edd. Davos looked at Jon one last time before he left. But Emmelyne remained. She took Jon's hand in hers, a few small tears starting to fall down her cheeks. "Please," she begged. "Please Jon. Come back. For me."  
It was useless, she knew. He wouldn't come back. She slowly leaned over, kissing his forehead. "I going to miss you, big brother. You'll miss me, won't you?"  
She didn't want to leave him. Didn't want to truly be gone. She smoothed her thumb along his hand, sighing softly. "I love you, big brother. Promise me. Promise me that you'll come back."  
Her mind went to a woman, lying in a bed, surrounded by blood. _"Promise me, Ned," she whispered._  
Emmelyne tried to shake the thought out of her mind. From their spot on the floor, Ghost and R'hllor woke from their sleeps. R'hllor's eyes fixated on Emmelyne, but Ghost looked up at Jon, whining softly. And then Jon's eyes opened, and he took his first breaths. Emmelyne gasped, stumbling back from the table, hitting the wall. She didn't think it had worked. Jon slowly sat up, his eyes landing on his little sister. His dark eyes went wide. "Jon?" she whispered.  
The door opened, and Davos stood there. He looked first at Emmelyne, and then at Jon. There was silence as Jon gave a few more ragged breaths. He slowly looked at Davos. Ghost got to his feet, staring at Jon with his red eyes. Jon looked at down at the scars on his chest, his fingers brushing along one of them but his hand jerking away when he touched it. He began shaking, panting and gasping for air. Davos swept off his cloak, hurrying to the table. Jon tried to stand, but his legs collapsed under his weight, sending him falling into Davos, who wrapped him in the cloak. Emmelyne made her way toward the two. "Easy, easy," Davos urged Jon, sitting him down on a stool.  
Melisandre stepped inside next. Shock was evident on her face as she took in Jon. Davos looked at the Lord Commander. "What do you remember?" he asked.  
Jon took a few more breaths before answering. "They stabbed me. Olly... he put a knife in my heart," he shook his head slowly. "I shouldn't be here."  
"Your little sister brought you back," Davos said.  
Melisandre hurried up to Jon. "Afterwards, after they stabbed you, after you died, where did you? What did you see?" she demanded.  
Jon shook his head. "Nothing. There was nothing at all."  
"The Lord let you come back for a reason. Stannis was not the prince who was promised, but someone has to be."  
Emmelyne had heard that phrase before. It seemed like forever ago, but Vyreo had said that perhaps she was this 'prince who was promised.' He'd called her the princess, however. Davos sighed. "Could you give us a moment?" he asked.  
Melisandre stood, and Emmelyne moved toward the door. Emmelyne looked at Davos. "Let me speak to him when you're finished," she said.  
"Of course, my lady," Davos nodded.  
So Melisandre and Emmelyne left the office, R'hllor following, and Davos closing the door behind them.  
When Emmelyne went to her room, she was tired. She had barely slept during the nights spent in Jon's office. Truth be told, she was surprised she was still able to stand. She collapsed on the bed, R'hllor jumping up beside her. Her gray eyes closed.  
 _There was man. Emmelyne somehow knew that it was her father. He stood outside of a tower, blood and bodies surrounding. A scream of excruciating pain echoed from the tower, and Ned ran inside. Emmelyne started to follow him. "Father?" she questioned, and the young Ned stopped.  
He looked around, but did not see her, standing only a foot behind him. He continued into the tower, Emmelyne close at his heels as the screams continued. Ned shoved open the door at the top of the tower, where two handmaidens stood by a bed. "Ned?" a woman's voice asked.  
"Lyanna," Ned said.  
He propped his sword at the foot of the bed, moving to Lyanna's side. This was Emmelyne's aunt, and King Robert was right. She and Emmelyne looked exactly alike. Blood stained the yellow blanket on the bed, and sweat beaded on Lyanna's forehead. "Is that you?" she questioned.  
Ned looked down at the blood, watching Lyanna weakly raise her hand from the blanket. "Is that really you?" she continued.  
Ned took her hand in his own, uncaring of the red that spotted her pale skin. She managed a smile at her older brother. "You're not a dream?" she said.  
"No, I'm not a dream. I'm here. Right here," Ned replied.  
"I've missed you, big brother."  
"I've missed you, too."  
Lyanna let out a whimper, her voice breaking as she uttered one phrase. "I want to be brave."  
"Shh," Ned consoled. You are."  
"I'm not."  
Ned looked at her other hand, this one covered in even more blood than the one he still gripped. "I don't want to die," she admitted.  
"You're not going to die," Ned stated.  
She was crying now, and Ned turned to the handmaidens. "Get her some water," he urged.  
"No, no water, just listen," Lyanna said weakly.  
"Is there a maester?"  
"Listen to me, Ned," she said, taking his cheek in her hand and turning him toward her.  
He leaned close, and she whispered in his ear. "His name is Aegon Targaryen. If Robert finds out, he'll kill him, you know he will. You have to protect him. Promise me, Ned. Promise me."  
She let out a sob as Ned slowly started to rise to his feet. From next to him, a baby started to cry. One of the handmaidens slowly lowered the child into Ned's arms. He looked down at the baby, which peered up at him with eyes that Emmelyne had seen many times before. Eyes that reopened only minutes before the vision. "Promise me, Ned," Lyanna continued. "Promise me."  
Emmelyne stepped closer. "Jon," she murmured.  
Lyanna lifted her head, and her eyes fell on Emmelyne. She smiled, speaking quietly in a voice that only Emmelyne heard. "You look just like me."_


	43. Chapter Forty-Two: Wrong but Right

The time came for Emmelyne to speak alone with Jon. When she entered the office he was still wrapped tightly in the cloak. "Are you cold?" she questioned him, and he nodded slightly.  
She stepped up to him, pressing her hand to his cheek. Her entire body radiated warmth, and Jon leaned into the touch. "I'll make sure you get some clothes," she said.  
"Good," Jon replied.  
Ghost sat at Jon's side, watching Emmelyne. "How do you feel?" she asked.  
"I don't know. The same, I think. A bit... empty, maybe."  
She smiled a little. "Beric Dondarrion told me that every time he came back, it felt like a piece of him had been chipped away. Is that how you feel?"  
"Yeah. That sounds right."  
She took his hand in hers, and he smiled weakly at the heat. "So, you brought me back?" he asked.  
"Yes. I used a combination of Melisandre's instructions, and how Thoros of Myr would bring back Beric."  
"You've been on a few adventures, then. You still haven't told me all of them."  
She bit her lip. "I will. Someday. That day is not today."  
Jon nodded at this. Emmelyne hesitated before speaking. "Alliser... after he killed you... everyone chased me. Alliser said that whoever caught me... he said that the person who caught me could... could rape me."  
Jon's eyes narrowed. "Alliser Thorne will be dealt with accordingly. I promise you, Emmelyne. Justice will be served."  
"Thank you, but it is you who needs justice. They killed you, Jon."  
"I know that. I'll get my justice, you'll get yours."  
Emmelyne took his other hand, smiling. "I'm glad you're alive," she said.  
He chuckled softly. "I'm glad, too."  
Emmelyne hesitated before leaning close, kissing his cheek gently. "I love you, big brother."  
"I love you, too, little sister."  
It felt strange to call him big brother. Because she knew, deep down in her heart, that he was not her brother. He was her cousin. But he didn't know that. Nobody, at least to Emmelyne's knowledge, knew. Jon looked at her quizzically. "Are you alright, Em?"  
When she didn't answer, he kept pressing her. "Em? Emmelyne? Answer me."  
Finally, she snapped out of her daze. "Yes, yes. Sorry. I'm alright. I'm just... I'm tired."  
He smiled a little, squeezing her hand. "Get some rest, then. We can speak more in the morning"  
"I don't want to sleep."  
"Then what do you want to do?"  
She hesitated, slowly letting go of his hands. And then she leaned close, kissing him. Jon froze for a moment, before he kissed her back, his hands moving to her hips. When they broke apart, his eyes were wide with shock. "Em- -" he began, but she stood up from her seat.  
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "That was wrong. I'm sorry."  
"Emmelyne, just- -" he started to say.  
She didn't look back at him as she ran from the office.  
That night, Jon visited her in her room. He wore clothes now, in place of Davos's cloak. Around his shoulders was a fur cloak, not Davos's, however. "What?" she questioned stiffly, standing up from her bed.  
"I want to talk to you," Jon replied.  
"There's nothing to talk about. I'm a stupid child. That's all I am. Kissing you wasn't the right thing to do. It was wrong."  
He stepped toward her, taking her hands in his. "It wasn't wrong, Emmelyne."  
She pulled her hands roughly away, and R'hllor growled, prepared to attack Jon if need be. "It wasn't wrong," he repeated. "It wasn't. I promise you."  
She shook her head. "No, it was. You're my brother."  
"I'm a bastard."  
"You're my brother!"  
He grabbed her roughly by the shoulders, staring into her eyes. "Then why did you kiss me?"  
"I don't know! Honestly, Jon! All of the decisions I've made, I don't know why I made them. I just... I wanted to kiss you."  
He lowered his hands from her shoulders, taking one of her pale hands in his. "You're not a child, Em. You're almost twenty. You make decisions based on what you want."  
She looked at him, her gray eyes hidden beneath her eyelashes. "I don't know what I want."  
His thumb traced patterns along the back of her hand, a soothing touch that Emmelyne was more than welcome to. She heard a woman's voice, somewhere in the back of her mind. _"You know nothing, Jon Snow".  
Jon's voice answered her._ _"I do know some things. I know I love you."  
She saw a pretty redheaded girl, looking at Jon as he spoke to her. "I do. I know it. If you attack the Wall, you'll die. All of you."  
"All of us," she stated. "You're mine as I am yours. If we die, we die. But first, we'll live."  
"Yes, first we'll live."  
The scene distorted. Jon held the pretty girl in his arms, an arrow sticking out from her chest. "Jon Snow," she said weakly.  
"Hush, don't talk," he told her.  
"Do you remember that cave? We should've stayed in that cave."  
"We'll go back to that cave."  
"You know nothing, Jon Snow."  
It distorted one more time. "What's your name?" Jon was asking.  
"Ygritte."_  
Emmelyne shook her head, coming back to reality. "I know you, Emmelyne. I know that you know exactly what you want, and you'll do anything to get it," Jon said.  
"You know nothing, Jon Snow."  
He froze, dropping her hand. "Did you... you saw Ygritte..." he whispered.  
Emmelyne bit down on her lip. "We both have loved people. You loved this Ygritte girl, I fell in love with Sandor Clegane. I think we both need to think a bit. I'm sorry. Kissing you was a mistake, Jon. Nothing more," she said. "I'm sorry."  
He nodded slightly, turning and leaving her in her room.


	44. Chapter Forty-Three: Primal Urges

Jon and Emmelyne didn't speak for days. When it came time for Jon to kill the traitors that had murdered him, Emmelyne kept herself hidden among the brothers. As Edd and Jon stepped outside, Jon searched the crowd for her. She felt his gaze on her, but she stared at the ground. Melisandre stood up on the walls, watching. Jon moved through the crowd up to the gallows. Olly, Alliser, and two other men stood stiffly. Ropes were already loose around their throats. Once Jon cut the weight, they'd all be hung. Jon sighed. "If you have any last words, now is the time," he said.  
"You shouldn't be alive," one man spoke up. "It's not right."  
"Neither was killing me."  
The next man looked at Jon fearfully. "My mother's still living at White Harbor," he said. "Could you write her? Tell her I died fighting the wildlings."  
It was Alliser's turn. The steely blue eyes locked on Jon. "I had a choice, Lord Commander," he growled out. "Betray you or betray the Night's Watch. You brought an army of wildlings into our lands. An army of murderers and raiders. If I had to do it all over knowing where I'd end up, I pray I'd make the right choices again."  
"I'm sure you would, Ser Alliser," Jon nodded.  
"I fought, I lost. Now I rest. But you, Lord Snow, you'll be fighting their battles forever. Let us hope that the Red Whores won't corrupt you further."  
He raised his head, staring at nothing. Finally, Jon stepped up to Olly. He looked at the young boy. But Olly said nothing. Jon nodded slightly. He stepped aside drawing his sword. There was a pause, the silence deafening. Jon swung the sword, chopping the weight. The floor dropped, the ropes tightened, and the traitors began to struggle, gasping for air. Everyone averted their eyes, except for Emmelyne. She stared at the four men as their jerking movements finally came to a stop. Jon stared at Olly's corpse, a shuddering breath escaping him. He put his sword away, starting to make his way down the steps. "We should burn the bodies," Edd told him.  
"You should," Jon replied.  
He took off his cloak, handing it over to Edd. "What do you want me to do with this?" Edd asked.  
"Wear it," Jon said simply. "Burn it. Whatever you want. You have Castle Black."  
Jon continued down the steps, leaving Edd completely confused. As he walked, Jon uttered a single phrase. "My watch is ended."  
Emmelyne hesitated before running after him. She followed him into his office, closing the door behind her as she stared at him. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" she demanded.  
"What?" he questioned.  
"You stepped down as Lord Commander!"  
"My watch is ended."  
"You made that extremely clear when you walked away!"  
"Why are you angry about this?"  
"I... I honestly don't know. I just feel like something bad is going to happen."  
"Did you have a vision?"  
"No."  
"Then nothing is going to happen. Your visions always seem to show dark things happening."  
Emmelyne bit down on her lip. "Our first conversation in days and it's filled with me shouting at you," she murmured.  
He chuckled softly. "Seems fitting after our last conversation."  
Emmelyne sighed. "Are you going to leave?"  
He nodded a bit. "I think I will. Maybe go south. I could try to take back Winterfell from the Boltons."  
"Would I be staying here?"  
"You could come with me. If you did stay here, I suppose Edd could you safe. But I don't like the idea of you being the only girl here. Even when I was around, brothers tried to hurt you."  
"I'll have R'hllor to keep me safe, Jon."  
He smiled slightly at that. "Ghost won't want to leave his brother."  
She shrugged. "I'm sure they'll be alright. They were apart for years and they were fine."  
"I suppose."  
An awkward silence settled between the two. Jon hesitated before breaking it. "We should talk about what happened."  
"No," Emmelyne said stiffly.  
But Jon wasn't going to take that as an answer. "Emmelyne," he urged, "we need to talk."  
"It was nothing. It was a mistake. I shouldn't have done it," she stated.  
"Then why did you?"  
"I don't know."  
"You do know."  
"I don't know!"  
He stepped forward, taking her roughly by shoulders. "You do know," he repeated.  
Finally, she sighed. "Because I have no one. No one except for you. Arya is gone, Sansa is with the Lannisters, Bran and Rickon were killed by Theon, Robb and my mother were killed by the Freys, and I don't know if Sandor is alive. You're the only one I have left. And I... I suppose my mind just clouded over the fact that you're my brother."  
But he wasn't. She knew that now. It didn't feel so strange to have kissed him. Jon gave a half smile. "So you do know. And it's a good reason. That's all you needed to say."  
"I don't know what to do," she admitted.  
He stared into her eyes, his hands moving to her hips. "Whatever you want."  
Another silence fell over the pair, though this one was filled with tension of a different sort. Jon kissed her this time. This kiss didn't end as quickly as the first. She brought her hands up, holding his face. When they broke apart, her breathing was heavy. "Was that wrong?" Jon breathed out, and she slowly shook her head.  
His lips moved to the skin of her neck, and she backed away, leaning against the desk. "Jon..." she whispered.  
His breath felt cool on her skin, making the hairs on the back of her neck rise up. She let out a soft gasp. He returned to her mouth, biting gently at her lower lip. Her hands moved up to tangle in his hair. He pushed her further back onto the desk, keeping her legs around his waist. His hands felt cold on her skin. Their bodies moved together like a dance. He took the fabric of her skirt tightly in his fist. Suddenly, the door opened. The two froze, and Emmelyne's eyes landed on Edd. "Sorry," the man stuttered out.  
He started to step back. Jon backed away from Emmelyne, who's face burned bright red. "You should knock before entering a room," Jon said.  
Emmelyne nearly fell from the desk in her haste to leave. She looked back at Jon as she fled the room, smiling weakly at him. He smiled in return.


	45. Chapter Forty-Four: Reunion

Emmelyne stood in her room, braiding the short locks of her hair together. She heard the horn blowing outside, followed by a brother shouting. "Riders approaching!"  
They hadn't had riders in a long time. R'hllor stood up from his place beside the door, and they made their way out into the yard. The gates creaked open. The first thing Emmelyne saw the was blonde woman from her vision, along with the young man. And then Emmelyne saw familiar red hair, tied in a braid. Her eyes went wide. The trio rode into the yard. "Sansa," Emmelyne whispered.  
Tormund stared at the blonde woman with a great deal of interest. She looked away from him. Sansa looked around fearfully. The second the young girl dismounted her horse, Emmelyne ran to her. She threw her arms around her little sister, who seemed shocked before she realized who it was. "Em?" she questioned.  
"Sansa!" Emmelyne laughed.  
She kept her arm around Sansa's shoulder as the younger girl turned to look around the yard. Her blue eyes fell on Jon. Emmelyne continued to laugh, overjoyed yet filled with shock at the same time. Jon hurried down the steps, staring at Sansa in shock. "She's here," Emmelyne breathed out.  
And then Jon engulfed the girls in a tight embrace. Starks were reunited after so many years. Sansa and Emmelyne were crying, though not tears of sadness. When Jon released the girls, Emmelyne stared at Sansa, laughing again. "You're okay. You're safe. By the gods, you're alive."  
"I'm alive," Sansa nodded, smiling.  
That night, Emmelyne, Sansa, and Jon sat in the dining hall. Sansa drank from a bowl of soup. Jon watched her, waiting for her to speak. "This is good soup," she said.  
Jon nodded. "Do you remember those kidney pies Old Nan used to make?" she asked Jon and Emmelyne.  
"With the peas and onions?" Jon replied.  
"What about the lemon cakes she'd make for our namedays?" Emmelyne added.  
"Gods, those were good," Sansa chuckled.  
Jon sighed. "We never should have left Winterfell."  
"Don't you wish we could back to the day we left?" Sansa asked. "I want to scream at myself, 'don't go, you idiot.'"  
"How could we know?" Jon pointed out.  
Emmelyne looked at the ground sadly. "I should've seen what was going to happen to all of us."  
"You can't control what you see," Jon told her.  
"I spent a lot of time thinking about what an ass I was to you," Sansa said to Jon. "I wish I could change everything."  
"I wish I'd have spent more time with everyone. Rickon, Bran, Arya, Robb. And you, Sansa," Emmelyne murmured.  
"We were children," Jon shrugged.  
"I was awful to you, just admit it," Sansa replied.  
"I was distant. Don't just try to make me feel better," Emmelyne chuckled.  
"Yes, Sansa. You were occasionally awful. Emmelyne, you should've spoken to the younger children more often," Jon admitted. "But I'm sure I can't have been great fun. Always sulking in the corner while you all played and Emmelyne watched you."  
"Can you forgive me?" Sansa asked.  
"And me?" Emmelyne added.  
"There's nothing to forgive," Jon said.  
Both girls spoke at almost the same time. "Forgive me."  
"All right," Jon laughed. "All right, I forgive you both."  
Sansa laughed as well, reaching out for the flagon in Jon's hand. He hesitated before passing it over to her. She took a long drink, coughing suddenly at the taste. Jon and Emmelyne laughed. The ale was almost as awful as the wine. "You'd think after thousands of years, the Night's Watch would've learned how to make a good ale," Jon said.  
"And good wine," Emmelyne added.  
Jon took Emmelyne's hand, squeezing it gently as Sansa spoke. "Where will you go?"  
"Where will _we_ go?" Jon corrected. "If I don't watch over you and Emmelyne, father's ghost will come back and murder me."  
"Where will we go?" Sansa asked.  
"I can't stay here, not after what happened."  
"There's only one place we can go. Home."  
Emmelyne looked at her. "What, do we tell the Boltons they've overstayed their welcome?"  
"We'll take it back from them."  
Jon straightened. "I don't have an army."  
"How many wildlings did you save?" Sansa questioned.  
"They didn't come here to serve me."  
"But they will," Emmelyne interrupted. "They trust you. They owe you their lives."  
Sansa stood up, nodding thankfully Emmelyne. "You think they'll be safe here if Roose Bolton remains Warden of the North?" she asked Jon.  
"Sansa," he said.  
"Winterfell is our home. It's ours and Arya's and Bran's and Rickon's. Wherever they are, it belongs to our family. We have to fight for it."  
"I'm tired of fighting."  
Jon stood, pulling Emmelyne with him as he stared at Sansa. "It's all I've done since I left home. I've killed brothers of the Night's Watch. I've killed wildlings. I've killed men that I admire. I hanged a boy younger than Bran. I fought and I lost."  
Sansa looked at him in shock. "If we don't take back the North, we'll never be safe," she said. "I want you to help me. But I'll do it myself if I have to."  
Jon didn't answer. He let of Emmelyne's hand.  
Emmelyne returned to her room that night, Sansa in tow. When R'hllor noticed the redheaded girl, he was on her in seconds, licking her face and barking happily. Sansa struggles to fight off the direwolf, and once Emmelyne stopped laughing, she called him down. "He missed you," Emmelyne said.  
Sansa groaned, wiping slobber from her cheek. "I suppose he did."  
"You should've seen how he reacted to Arya."  
Sansa paused. "Arya?"  
Emmelyne nodded. "I saw her when I was with the Brotherhood. She was doing well. I had a vision about her in the Riverlands, but that's the last time I heard or saw anything about her."  
"What about Bran and Rickon?"  
"Bran and Rickon are dead. Theon killed them."  
Sansa shook her head at this. "No, he didn't. He killed two farm boys in their place. They escaped Winterfell after he took it. Could you try and see them?"  
Emmelyne bit her lips. "Perhaps," she murmured.  
She thought of Bran, but nothing came to mind. But when she thought of Rickon, she saw. _He stood before a man. The man was handsome, with dark hair and dark eyes. But the eyes held a sadistic glint that shook Emmelyne to her core. The room felt familiar to Emmelyne. It was Winterfell's throne room. The man was Ramsay Snow, Roose's bastard. And if the rumors were true about him, then Rickon was in trouble. Rickon's wrists were bound, and he stared at the man with fear in his eyes. The head of a direwolf lied on the table next to them. Rickon's direwolf, Shaggydog. His black fur was wet with blood, and his tongue lolled out of his mouth. The dark haired man smiled.  
_ When Emmelyne returned to reality, she looked at Sansa. "Rickon's been captured. I can't see Bran. But Shaggydog has been killed. It looked like Rickon was home, in Winterfell. He's been taken by the Boltons."  
Sansa's eyes went wide. "We have to get our brother back."


	46. Chapter Forty-Five: A Strategist

Dinner with the brothers of the Watch was a strange affair to Sansa. With the brothers leaning over each other to get food and ale, coupled with the subpar meal, it was not what Sansa expected. Emmelyne had learned that the blonde woman was named Brienne, and that the man who was with her was called Podrick. Emmelyne was sat next to Jon, their hands intertwined beneath the sat stiffly in her seat, trying to avoid Tormund's stare. Emmelyne chuckled. Edd glanced at Sansa, who picked at her food with a fork. "Sorry about the food," he said. "It took Emmelyne a while to get used to it, too. It's not really what we're known for."  
"That's all right. There are more important things," Sansa smiled in return.  
A brother stepped in, a letter in his hand. "A letter for you, Lord Commander," he said, holding the letter out to Jon, who just looked puzzled.  
"I'm not Lord Commander anymore," he pointed out.  
Emmelyne shoved him lightly. "Take the fucking letter," she stated.  
So he took it, though somewhat hesitantly. A wax seal kept the scroll furled up. Emmelyne saw that it was stamped with the sigil of House Bolton; a flayed man. Jon slid the seal off as Emmelyne whispered to herself, "Roose or Ramsay?"  
He unfurled the letter, looking around at everyone who was seated. Emmelyne nodded, urging him to read it. "'To the traitor and bastard Jon Snow. You allowed thousands of wildlings past the Wall. You have betrayed your own kind. Winterfell is mine, bastard. Come and see. Your brother Rickon is in my dungeon.'"  
Jon stopped reading, slowly looking at Emmelyne. "True," she murmured.  
He nodded stiffly, continuing to read. "'His direwolf's skin is on my floor. Come and see. I want my bride back. Send her to me, bastard, and I will not trouble you or your wildling lovers. Keep her from me and I will ride north and slaughter every man, woman, and babe living under your protection. You will watch as I skin them living. You- -'" he stopped again.  
"What does it say?" Emmelyne questioned.  
He started to fold the letter. "More of the same."  
Emmelyne took it from his hands, sighing before finishing the letter off. "'You will watch as my soldiers take turns raping your sister, my bride. The same fate will go to Emmelyne Stark, the Demon of Winterfell. I will take her for my own, and I promise you that she will bear me one child. You will watch as my dogs devour your little brother. Then I will spoon your eyes from their sockets and let my dogs do the rest. Come and see. Ramsay Bolton, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.'"  
Jon squeezed her hand lightly, but she slipped free of his grasp. "Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North," Sansa said. "Roose is dead, surely at Ramsay's hand. And now he has Rickon."  
Emmelyne nodded stiffly. "And now he has Rickon."  
Jon looked at her. "Are you completely sure?"  
"I saw it. Ramsay's men cut off Shaggydog's head. I don't know what he's going to do to Rickon."  
Tormund leaned forward. "How many men does he have in his army?" he asked.  
Sansa thought a moment. "I heard him say 5,000 once when he was talking about Stannis's attack."  
Jon quickly looked at Tormund. "How many do you have?"  
"That can march and fight? 2,000. The rest are children and old people."  
Jon's gaze drifted to Sansa, who looked at him like he was stupid. "You're the son of the last true Warden of the North." _Aegon._ "Northern families are loyal. They'll fight for you if you ask."  
She reached across the table, taking Jon's hand. "A monster has taken our home and our brother. We have to go back to Winterfell and save them both."  
Emmelyne looked at Jon. "She's right," she stated.  
Jon nodded, looking down at the floor. Emmelyne took his other hand, smoothing her thumb along the back of it. He was grateful for the touch, and he gave her comforting squeeze in return.  
Jon and Emmelyne found it difficult to keep their relationship a secret. Edd, of course, already knew, and Jon had sword him to secrecy. Sansa had begun to notice their handholding, though she said nothing on the matter. Emmelyne had been sleeping in Jon's room, sneaking out of her own late at night when the brothers wouldn't notice. Of course, they noticed that both Ghost and R'hllor would lie outside the door. No one wanted to question the two, though whispers had begun to spread. A new nickname had sprung up for Emmelyne, surely stemming from Alliser's final words. 'Red Whore.' She didn't care much; she was used to being called a variety of insults. Jon, however, was enraged by the nickname. She tried to calm him, but that didn't work. He started threating to cut the tongues from the brothers he heard call her it.  
They stood in Jon's office, looking over a map. "We can't defend the north from the walkers and the south from the Boltons," Jon said. "If we want to survive, we need Winterfell, and to take Winterfell, we need more men."  
He threw one of the pieces on the map, letting it skid across the table and stop before Davos. Tormund sat down, staring at Brienne. Davos sighed. "Aside from the Starks and the Boltons, the most powerful houses in the north are the Umbers, the Karstarks, and the Manderlys. The Umbers and the Karstarks have already declared for the Boltons, so we're not doing so well there."  
"The Umbers gave Rickon to our enemies," Sansa stated. "They can hang. But the Karstarks declared for Ramsay without knowing they had another choice."  
Davos stuttered out a response. "I beg your pardon, my lady, but they know that a Stark beheaded their father. I don't think we can count on them either."  
"How well do you know the North, Ser Davos?"  
"Precious little, my lady."  
"My father always said Northerners are different. More loyal, more suspicious of outsiders."  
"They may well be loyal, but how many rose up against the Boltons when they betrayed your family?"  
Sansa didn't answer. Davos continued. "I may not know the North, but I know men. They're more or less the same in any corner of the world and even the bravest of them don't want to see their wives and children skinned for a lost cause. If Jon's going to convince them to fight alongside him, they need to believe it's a fight they can win."  
Jon was exasperated. "There are more than three other houses in the North. Glover, Mormont, Cerwyn, Mazin, Hornwood. Two dozen more. Together they equal all the others. We can start small and build."  
Davos nodded at this. "I'm sure the Reeds would support us. Howland was a good friend of father's," Emmelyne added.  
"Exactly," Jon agreed.  
"I can write a lett- -" Emmelyne began.  
"The North remembers," Sansa interrupted. "They remember the Stark name. People will still risk everything for it, from White Harbor to Ramsay's own door."  
"I don't doubt it," Davos said. "But Jon doesn't have the Stark name."  
"No, but Emmelyne does and I do, too."  
Emmelyne smiled slightly, and Jon's eyes widened. Sansa continued, pleased that now she was getting listened to. "Jon is every bit as much Ned's Starks son as Ramsay is Roose Bolton's. And there are also the Tullys. They're not Northern, but they will back us against the Boltons without question."  
"I didn't know the Tullys had an army," Davos noted.  
"Emmelyne and I's uncle the Blackfish has reformed it and retaken Riverrun."  
"How do you know that?" Jon asked.  
"Ramsay received a raven before I escaped Winterfell."  
"Thats good," Davos said. "The Blackfish is a legend. His support would mean a great deal. Stark, Tully, Reed, a few more houses, almost starts to look like a winning side."  
Sansa grinned, and Emmelyne chuckled softly. This was going to work.


	47. Chapter Forty-Six: Begging

Jon and Emmelyne were leaving the Wall. As Emmelyne readied her horse, she adjusted the bow on her shoulder. Footsteps sounded behind her, and she turned to face Sansa. "I like your new dress. You made it, I presume?" Emmelyne smiled.  
Sansa nodded. "I made you a gift," she said, holding out a bit of fabric.  
Emmelyne furrowed her brow, taking it from Sansa's hand. It was a cloak. Made of black fabric with a fur trim, the cloak looked quite like Catelyn's. It's only difference was the bottom of the cloak; embroidered in thread there was a design. A pack of three dogs sewn in gray, led by a direwolf sewn in white, chasing a lion sewn in gold as it tried to flee. "Three dogs," Emmelyne said. "The sigil of House Clegane."  
Sansa nodded, grinning. "Jon told me that you fell in love with Sandor."  
Emmelyne bit down on her lip, smoothing her hand along the fur trim. "I know it looks like Mother's. That was on purpose. I know you two never got along, but Jon's looks like Father's, and I figured... well, you like it, don't you?" Sansa questioned nervously.  
"I love it," Emmelyne reassured. "Thank you."  
"You're welcome."  
Emmelyne swept the cloak around her shoulders, smiling at her little sister. "Thank you," she repeated.  
Sansa seemed proud of herself. She and Emmelyne embraced before Emmelyne climbed up onto her horse. Sansa moved to her horse, climbing on. They rode out of the gates, Melisandre and some others at their backs.  
Beyond the Wall, the wildlings weren't agreeing with Jon. They spoke to one of them, a man called Dim Dalba. "We said we'd fight with you, King Crow, when the time comes and we meant it, but this isn't what we agreed to. These aren't white walkers. This isn't an army of the dead. This isn't our fight," he stated.  
Tormund had a counterargument. "If it weren't for him, none of us would be here. All of you would be meat in the Night King's army. And I'd be a pile of charred bones just like Mance."  
"Remember Mance's camp?" Dalba replied. "It stretched all the way to the horizon. And look at us now. Look what's left of us. And if we lose this, we're gone. Dozens of tribes, hundreds of generations. Be like we were never there at all. We'll be the last of the free folk."  
Jon paused a moment. "That's what'll happen to you if we lose. The Boltons, the Karstarks, the Umbers, they know you're here. They know that more than half of you are women and children. After they finish with me, they'll come for you. You're right. This isn't your fight. You shouldn't have to come to Winterfell with me. I shouldn't be asking you. It's not the deal we made. I need you with me if we're going to beat them, and we need to beat them if you're going to survive."  
Tormund added quickly, "the crows killed him because he spoke for the free folk when no other southerners would. He died for us. If we are not willing to do the same for him, we're cowards. And if that's what we are, we deserve to the last of the free folk."  
Suddenly, the giant, Wun Wun, stood. He stared down at the people below him. "Snow," he said.  
And with that, he walked away. Dalba looked around at the wildlings with him. They nodded, urging him to agree. He stepped forward, looking Jon in the eye and holding out his hand. Jon took it, smiling a little when they released each other. Dalba turned, walking off. The other wildings followed him. Tormund stepped up to Jon, who tore his eyes away from the others. "Are you sure they'll come?" Jon asked.  
Tormund smiled. "We're not clever like you southerners. When we say we'll do something, we do it," he said.  
He turned, walking off to join the other wildlings. Jon let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.  
That night, Emmelyne wrote a letter. She stared down at the words, unsure of if they were fit for their purpose.  
 _Lord Howland Reed,  
I suppose you have heard of me. I am Emmelyne Stark, eldest daughter and eldest remaining heir of Eddard Stark. I know my father, Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell, was a good friend of yours when you two were in your youth. It is in times of war and turmoil that we must call upon our good friends to supply us with help. With this in mind, I must call upon you to perhaps lend a few of your men to the cause of my half-brother, Jon Snow. Our family needs all the help we can get to try and retake our home, Winterfell, from the clutches of the evil house Bolton. I am aware that while you do not have a very large army, it is a strong one. While I understand if you feel the need to deny us troops, I beg of you to at least consider the opposite.  
Emmelyne Stark- The Demon of Winterfell_


	48. Chapter Forty-Seven: Soldiers

Once dealings with wildlings was completed, the party made their way to an actual house; Mormont. House Mormont was being ruled by the eleven year old Lyanna Mormont, named after Lyanna Stark. As they entered the hall, Emmelyne found herself thinking of a letter Lyanna had once sent Stannis. 'Bear Island knows no king but the King in the North, whose name is Stark.' She hoped the girl's beliefs had not wavered.  
The hall was near empty, save Lyanna, her maester, and a few other men. Davos, Emmelyne, Jon, and Sansa all smiled kindly at the girl. Lyanna was young; too young to be ruling a castle herself, though Bran had been only eleven when left in charge of Winterfell. But that was Robb's own error, made by him leaving to fight in a war he could not win, and that was what lost the Starks Winterfell the first time to the Greyjoys.  
"Lady Mormont," Jon addressed.  
"Welcome to Bear Island," Lyanna stated.  
An awkward silence fell over the two parties. Jon looked at Sansa and Emmelyne, hoping one of them could ease the tension. Emmelyne sighed, looking at the ground before smiling at Lyanna. "I remember when you were born, Lady Mormont. You were named for my aunt, Lyanna. It was said by many that she was a great beauty, and my father often spoke of her being quite good with weaponry as well. I'm sure you will become both of those things."  
Lyanna seemed somewhat pleased by this. "I doubt the beauty part. My mother wasn't a great beauty, or any other kind of beauty. But she was a great warrior. She died fighting for your brother, Robb."  
Emmelyne nodded. "I'm quite sorry for your loss, my lady. Maege Mormont always was rumored to be one of the best warriors in my brother's army."  
It seemed that nobody knew what to make of Lyanna Mormont. Jon hesitated before speaking. "I served under your uncle at Castle Black, Lady Lyanna. He was also a great warrior and an honorable man. I was his steward. In fact- -" Jon was cut off by the girl.  
"I think we've had enough small talk," she said bluntly. "Why are you here?"  
Jon was surprised by this, but he regained composure quickly. "Stannis Baratheon garrisoned at Caste Black before he marched on Winterfell and was killed. He showed my sister and I the letter you wrote to him when he petitioned for more men. It said- -" cut off, once more, by a child.  
"I remember what it said. Bear Island knows no king but the King in the North, whose name is Stark."  
Jon nodded. "Robb is gone, but House Stark is not. And it needs your support now more than ever. I've come with my sisters to ask for House Mormont's allegiance."  
Lyanna leaned over to speak to Maester, who spoke in hushed whispers. When she straightened again, she cocked her eyebrow. "As far as I understand, you're a Snow and Lady Sansa is a Bolton. Or is she a Lannister? I've heard conflicting reports. Lady Emmelyne seems to be the only Stark here, but she has quite a reputation for herself, and I'm not sure I'll support her."  
Emmelyne looked at Sansa, wondering which of them should take charge. Sansa nodded at Emmelyne, who spoke up. "I've done what I've had to do to survive, my lady. My reputation is only soiled by those who do not believe in the Lord of Light. They may call me whore or witch, but I can assure that they only exist to weaken me. I am a Stark through and through, Lady Lyanna. My reputation will never change that."  
"If you say so. In any case, you don't just want my allegiance. You want my fighting men," Lyanna said.  
Jon sighed. "Ramsay Bolton cannot be allowed to keep Winterfell, my lady. It is our duty to stop him. Even more so because he holds our brother Rickon Stark as prisoner. What you have to understand, my lady, is that- -" it was almost laughable now.  
"I understand that I'm responsible for Bear Island and all who live here. So why should I sacrifice one more Mormont life for someone else's war?"  
No one knew how to answer that question. Davos slowly stepped forward. "If it please, my lady, I understand how you feel," he said.  
"I don't know you, Ser...?" Lyanna questioned.  
"Davos, my lady, of House Seaworth."  
She leaned over to her Maester, but Davos interjected. "You needn't ask you maester about my house. It's rather new."  
"All right," she said, "Ser Davos of House Seaworth. How is it you understand how I feel?"  
"You never thought you'd find yourself in your position. Being responsible for so many lives at such a young age. I never thought I'd be in my position. I was a crabber's son, then I was a smuggler. And now I find myself addressing the lady of a great house in time of war. But I'm here because this isn't someone else's war. It's our war."  
Lyanna nodded. "Go on, Ser Davos," she encouraged.  
He continued. "Your uncle, Lord Commander Mormont, made that man his steward," he said, pointing at Jon. "He chose Jon to be his successor because he knew he had the courage to do what was right, even if it meant giving his life. Because Jeor Mormont and Jon Snow both understood that the real war isn't between a few squabbling houses. It's between the living and the dead. And make no mistake, my lady, the dead are coming."  
Lyanna stared for a moment before looking at Jon. "Is this true?"  
Jon nodded. "Your uncle fought them at the Fist of the First Men. I fought them at Hardhome. We both lost."  
"As long as the Boltons hold Winterfell, the North is divided," Davos said. "And a divided North won't stand a chance against the Night King. You want to protect your people, my lady. I understand. But there's no hiding from this. We have to fight and we need to do it together."  
The maester started to whisper, but Lyanna held up a hand to silence him. "House Mormont has kept faith with House Stark for 1,000 years. We will not break faith today," she stated.  
Relief swept over Emmelyne. Jon stepped up closer to Lyanna's table. "Thank you, my lady," he said. "How many fighting men can we expect?"  
She leaned over to the man in charge of troops. He whispered something to her, and she straightened. She sounded so confident with the number she said, that Emmelyne almost laughed. "62."  
Dead silence. Jon didn't know what to say to that. "62?" he repeated.  
"We are not a large house, but we're a proud one. And every man from Bear Island fights with the strength of ten mainlanders," she said.  
Davos nodded. "If they're half as ferocious as their lady, the Boltons are doomed," he replied.  
Lyanna smiled, nodding.


	49. Chapter Forty-Eight: Friendship

"The answer is no," Lord Robett Glover stated as Jon tried to speak with him.  
"Lord Glover, if you could just hear us out- -" Jon began.  
"I've heard enough. We've only just taken back this castle from the ironborn. The Boltons helped us do it. Now you want me to fight against them? I could be skinned for even talking to you."  
"The Boltons are traitors. Roose Bolton- -" Jon started to say.  
"Have other northern houses pledged to fight for you?" Robett interrupted.  
"House Mormont."  
"And?"  
"We sent ravens to houses Manderly- -"  
"I don't care about ravens. You're asking me to join your army. Who is fighting in this army?"  
Jon sighed before answering. "The bulk of the force is made up by wildlings."  
Robett laughed. "Then the rumors are true. I didn't dare believe them. I received you out of respect for your father. Now I would like you to leave. House Glover will not abandon its ancestral home to fight alongside wildlings."  
Glover turned, starting to walk away. "Lord Glover," Jon tried.  
"There's nothing else to say," Glove stated.  
Sansa suddenly joined in. "I would remind you that House Glover is pledged to House Stark."  
Jon spun to look at her, and Emmelyne's eyes widened as she tried to stop a smile. Sansa continued. "Sworn to answer when called upon."  
Glover turned around to face them once more. He stepped up to Sansa, staring her in the eyes. Jon sighed, knowing this would end badly. "Yes," he said, "my family served House Stark for centuries. We wept when we heard of your father's death. When my brother was lord of this castle, he answered Robb's call and hailed him King in the North. And where was King Robb when the ironborn attacked this castle? When they threw my wife and children in prison and brutalized and killed our subjects? Taking up with a foreign whore. Getting himself and those who followed him killed. I served House Stark once, but House Stark is dead."  
With that, he returned to his castle, the doors closing behind him.  
When night fell, Davos delivered a letter to Emmelyne. She had to squint when reading it, but the letter brought some good news.  
 _Lady Emmelyne Stark,  
I have gotten your letter. You're right to think I've heard of you. What I've heard of you hasn't always been good. I must say that you're a very good writer. I must apologize, I've only just started to master writing. But, anyway, enough of the small things. You want some of my men. I must say that my army, as you said, is quite small. We can offer you ten good fighting men, and six archers. I hope that will be enough to help you. Send another letter with your location, and I'll send my troops.  
Lord Howland Reed._  
While ten men was quite a small number, it was more than nothing. Emmelyne furled the letter up, sighing softly. She'd tell Jon the news in the morning.  
When they rode into camp, Davos looked around. The Reed soldiers had arrived and were setting camp. Many looked lost; the crannogmen very seldom left their swampland of a home. "Stannis camped here on his way to Winterfell," Davos said.  
"And that's a good thing?" Sansa replied.  
"He was the most experienced commander in Westeros. He chose this place for a reason. Those mountains are a natural fortification. There's a stream down there for the horses."  
"We're not staying here long," Jon stated. "Another storm could hit any day."  
"Aye, the snows defeated Stannis as much as the Boltons did," Davos agreed.  
Jon continued. "We have to march on Winterfell now while we still can."  
They dismounted their horses, and Davos rattled off the list of their men. "2,000 wildlings, 200 Hornwoods, 143 Mazins," he said.  
"62 Mormonts," Sansa added.  
"16 Reeds," Emmelyne concluded.  
Davos nodded stiffly. "It's not what we'd hoped for. But we still have a chance if we're careful and smart."  
An argument broke out between a wildling and one of the soldiers. Emmelyne thought she heard the wildling saying something about 'ugly southern fucks.' "For fuck's sake," Davos stated, and he hurried off to break up the fight.  
Emmelyne chuckled. "So he's your most trusted advisor now?" Sansa asked Jon. "Because he secured 62 men from a 10 year old?"  
"She's 11," Emmelyne corrected.  
"Who cares?" Sansa retorted.  
Jon shook his head, looking at Sansa. "Ser Davos is the reason I'm standing here talking to you and he served Stannis for years," he said.  
"Stannis who lost the Blackwater, who murdered his own brother, who doesn't have a head?"  
She stopped, but Jon continued walking for a moment. Emmelyne rolled her eyes, not wishing to get involved in what was sure to be a fight. She kissed Jon on the cheek before saying, "I'm going make sure Davos doesn't get killed."  
Jon nodded, and she hurried in the direction of the crowd. One of the Reed men stepped forward, taking the northern man by the shoulder. "Come on, we're all meant to be fighting Boltons, not each other," he offered kindly.  
"Oh, fuck off, frog eater," the northern man responded, shaking off the other man.  
The argument continued, and the northerner shoved the wildling to the ground. Davos reacted quickly, starting to the help the wildling to his feet. "Friends," he cried, "this is not worth fighting over!"  
This didn't work. "This'll be it, now," he tried. "Right, we don't need to be fighting."  
The northern man stepped up, staring Davos in the eyes. "Who the fuck are you?" he demanded.  
The wildling even joined in. "Yeah, who the fuck are you?"  
"Davos, step back. Just leave it be," Emmelyne urged, but Davos didn't listen.  
Jon rushed over, and his voice mingled with the shouts. The Reed man moved to her side. "What in the hells started this fight?" she asked him.  
"I don't know, m'lady. Think the wildling insulted the other one."  
"Ugly southern fucks," they concluded at the same time.  
The man chuckled, smiling at Emmelyne. "I'm Robert. Robert Marsh."  
"Emmelyne Stark," she said in return.  
"I've heard of you. You sent the letter to Lord Howland."  
"Yes, that was me."  
Robert nodded, still smiling broadly. "This is my first battle. First time leaving Greywater Watch, actually, now that I think about it. I must thank you, m'lady, you're the reason I'm out of that place. Most men at this camp don't think too highly of us crannogmen."  
"They call you frog eaters, if I'm correct," Emmelyne chuckled.  
"Yes, I'm afraid you are."  
Emmelyne quite liked the young man. He looked to be around twenty, with long, curly brown hair and green eyes. His face was covered in freckles, and his teeth were a little crooked in the front. Emmelyne decided that Robert Marsh was a man to be trusted.


	50. Chapter Forty-Nine: Madman

Emmelyne didn't know how she managed to find herself in Robert Marsh's bed, naked and wrapped in a blanket as he lied beside her. It had all happened so fast; she'd gone to his tent to discuss battle plans, and then they were getting undressed. She was unsure of who had acted first, though she recalled Robert kissing her.  
Her maidenhead had been broken from riding horses, but she'd never been with a man. It had been somewhat painful, though the pain had given way to pleasure at some point.  
Robert sighed, running his hand through his hair. Neither of them knew what to say. Emmelyne didn't what to tell Jon; if she told Jon. The two had been sharing tent, and she had no way to excuse her absence. Robert's breathing slowed as he fell asleep, but Emmelyne lie awake all night. She left early in the morning and made up an excuse about exploring their campsite. When she had started to leave, Robert had woken. He announced to her that he would wear a red kerchief pinned to his breastplate, so she could see if he'd fallen in the battle.  
The battle seemed to be coming up fast. Ramsay and Jon had agreed to a parley, some miles distance from camp and some miles distance from Winterfell. Jon almost hadn't allowed Emmelyne to go, but he'd finally agreed after she begged him.  
They rode out to an empty field, R'hllor running along at his master's side. Emmelyne saw the banners of House Bolton, a flayed man. "You don't have to be here," Jon said to Sansa.  
"Yes, I do," Sansa stated in response.  
Ramsay and his men rode up, stopping a few feet ahead. Emmelyne narrowed her eyes as she saw Ramsay's gaze flicker to her chest. He lifted his eyes, smiling. "My beloved wife," he said to Sansa. "I've missed you terribly."  
He looked at Jon. "Thank you for returning Lady Bolton safely. Now, dismount and kneel before me, surrender your army and proclaim me the true lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. I will pardon you for deserting the Night's Watch. I will pardon these treasonous lords for betraying my house."  
When Jon did nothing, Ramsay just continued, trying to keep himself calm ."Come, bastard, you don't have the men, you don't have the horses, and you don't have Winterfell. Why lead those poor souls into slaughter? There's no need for a battle. Get off your horse and kneel."  
Jon still did not move. Lyanna was glaring. Ramsay offered a smile. "I'm a man of mercy," he said.  
Nothing. Jon finally spoke. "You're right," he stated. "There's no need for a battle. Thousands of men don't need to die. Only one of us. Let's end this the old way. You against me."  
Ramsay hesitated a moment, still managing to keep his smile on his face. It was like Emmelyne could hear his teeth grinding together. He chuckled, shaking his head. "I keep hearing stories about you, bastard. The way people in the North talk about you, you're the greatest swordsman who ever walked. Maybe you are that good. Maybe not. I don't know if I'd beat you. But I know that my army will beat yours. I have 6,000 men. You have, what, half that? Not even?"  
"Aye," Jon said, "you have the numbers. Will your men want to fight for you when they hear you wouldn't to fight for them?"  
Ramsay's smile dropped, shifting to a grimace of anger. He tried to keep smiling, but he failed. His words came out like a dogs growl. "He's good. Very good. Tell me, will you let your little brother die because you're too proud to surrender?"  
"Have you done anything to him?" Emmelyne questioned, and Ramsay's eyes went to her.  
"No," he said. "Not to him, exactly. But his wolf on the other hand..." he trailed off.  
Smalljon Umber produced something from his saddlebag; something black. He threw it in front of the Starks, and R'hllor let out a mournful howl. Shaggydog's head. There was no reaction to this; Emmelyne had seen it in her vision. But R'hllor started to go forward, whimpering. "R'hllor," Emmelyne stated, "to me."  
Ramsay smirked. "I've upset your pet, Demon. It is quite upsetting to lose a brother. I very recently lost my own. When I was young, I lost my other brother," he said. "Now, if you want to save- -" he started.  
"You're going to die tomorrow, Lord Bolton," Sansa declared. "Sleep well."  
She turned on her horse, riding off in the direction of camp. Ramsay watched her go before looking to Jon. "She's a fine woman, Sansa. I look forward to having her back in my bed. Though, I'd quite like your other sister, as well. Maybe I'll take both of them when I win."  
He addressed the group now. "And you're all fine-looking men. My dogs are desperate to meet you. I haven't fed them for seven days. They're ravenous. I wonder which parts they'll try first. Your eyes? Your balls? We'll find out soon enough."  
His eyes fell on Emmelyne one more time. "Maybe they'll meet your direwolf. Sire some strange half breeds. I can only imagine how ferocious those pups would be."  
Finally, he looked at Jon one last time. "In the morning then, bastard."  
His men turned, and they all rode off in the direction of Winterfell.  
When he was out of earshot, Emmelyne eased her horse toward Jon's. "We'll beat him. We have to," she whispered.  
"I don't like the way he looked at you," Jon stated.  
"I didn't like it very much, either. He's toying with you. Toying with all of us."  
"We should return to camp."


	51. Chapter Fifty: Infighting

They stood around a table, looking over battle plans. Jon was growing increasingly more frustrated. "If he was smart, he'd stay inside the walls of Winterfell and wait us out," he said.  
"That's not his way," Davos argued. "He knows the North is watching. If the other houses sense weakness on his part, they'll stop fearing him. He can't have that. Fear is his power."  
"It's his weakness, too. His men don't want to fight for him. They're forced to fight for him. If they feel the tide turning..." Jon said.  
"It's not his men that worry me, it's his horses," Tormund explained. "I know what mounted knights can do to us. You and Stannis cut through us like piss through snow."  
"We're digging trenches all along our flanks. They won't be able to hit us the way that Stannis hit you, in a double envelopment."  
Tormund stared blankly. "A pincer move," Jon offered.  
He continued staring, and Emmelyne chuckled, squeezing the wildlings shoulder. "He won't be able to hit us from the sides," she explained.  
"Good," he stated, nodding.  
Jon looked at Emmelyne, who shrugged. Davos continued the conversation. "It's crucial that we let them charge at us. They've got the numbers, we need the patience. If we let him buckle our center, he'll pursue. Then we'll have him surrounded on three sides."  
Tormund looked at Jon. "Did you really think that cunt would fight you man-to-man?" he asked.  
"No," Jon said. "But I wanted to make him angry. I want him coming at us full tilt."  
"We should all get some sleep," Davos urged.  
"Rest, Jon Snow," Tormund said. "We need you sharp tomorrow."  
Tormund and Davos left the tent. Emmelyne, Sansa, and Jon remained. Jon knew that Sansa was going to try and argue; he sat down, pressing his fingers to his temple. Emmelyne moved to his side, squeezing his shoulder reassuringly. "So you've met the enemy, drawn up your battle plans," Sansa said.  
"Aye," Jon agreed, "for what they're worth."  
"You've known him for the space of a single conversation, you and your trusted advisors, and you sit around making your plans on how to defeat a man you don't know. I lived with him. I know the way his mind works. I know how he likes to hurt people. Did it ever once occur to you that I might have some insight?"  
"You're right."  
"You think he's going to fall into your trap. He won't. He's the one who lays traps."  
Jon shook his head. "He's overconfident."  
"He plays with people," Sansa argued. "He's far better at it than you. He's been doing it all his life."  
"Aye, and what have I been doing all my life?" Jon demanded, standing from the table. "Playing with broomsticks?"  
Sansa stepped back, knowing that now he was truly angry. "I fought beyond the Wall against worse than Ramsay Bolton," he stated. "I defended the Wall against worse than Ramsay Bolton."  
"You don't know him," Sansa snapped.  
"Tell us, then," Emmelyne said, trying to calm the two. "What do we do? How do we get Rickon back?"  
Sansa sighed. "We'll never get him back. Rickon is Ned Stark's trueborn son, which makes him a greater threat to Ramsay than you, a bastard, or Emmelyne and I, two girls. As long as he lives, Ramsay's claim to Winterfell will be contested, which means he won't live long."  
"We can't give up on our little brother," Emmelyne stated.  
"Please, both of you, listen to me. Jon, he wants you to make a mistake."  
"Of course he does," Jon replied. "What should I do differently?"  
"I don't know," Sansa cried. "I don't know anything about battles. Just don't do what he wants you to do."  
"Aye, thats good advice."  
"Jon, she's trying," Emmelyne snapped.  
"I don't need your help," Sansa said to her. "Jon, you think that was obvious?"  
Jon nodded. "Well, it is a bit obvious."  
"If you had asked for my advice earlier, I would of told you not to attack Winterfell until we had a larger force, or is that obvious, too?"  
"When will we have a larger force?" Jon was shouting now. "We've pleaded with every house that will have us. Emmelyne's sent letters and she could only get 16 men. The Blackfish can't help us. We're lucky to have this many men."  
"It's not enough."  
"No, it's not enough. It's what we have."  
The two stared at each other, each out of breath and red with anger. Jon sighed softly, stepping away from Sansa. "Battles have been won against greater odds," he said.  
Sansa turned, looking back at Jon one more time. "If Ramsay wins, I'm not going back there alive. Do you understand me?"  
Jon nodded. "I won't ever let him touch you again. I'll protect you, I promise."  
"No one can protect me. No one can protect anyone."  
With this, Sansa left the tent. Jon sighed again, looking back down at the map. Emmelyne stepped to his side. "You need to sleep," she told him.  
"I need to make sure this will work," he replied.  
"You're going to drive yourself mad."  
"You go on to bed. I'll be with you soon."  
She nodded, biting her lip. "If that's what you want."  
"It is," he agreed.  
She kissed him on the cheek. "Goodnight, Jon."  
He offered her a wavering smile. "Goodnight, Em."  
She really didn't want to leave him, but he wouldn't want her to stay awake all night. "Goodnight," she repeated.  
He nodded, moving a piece on the board. She left the tent, a thought growing in her mind. She was a good archer. Davos had showed her the basics of sword fighting. If she had the proper clothes, she could run rather fast. It wasn't the best idea she'd had in her life; in fact, it was one of the worst. But she found herself wandering to Davos's tent with one statement in mind. 'I want to fight in the battle tomorrow.'


	52. Chapter Fifty-One: Savior of Starks

The time for battle had come. Davos had secured Emmelyne armor; from where, she did not know or care. She hadn't told Jon of her plans. She'd left that job to Davos. When he returned, he explained that Jon was furious but he would allow Emmelyne to fight if that was what she wanted.  
Emmelyne stood among the troops. She was the only one with a bow who would be fighting in the vanguard, though she had a sword as well, just in case. Jon rode to the front of the army, catching Emmelyne's gaze as she passed. She nodded at him, and he nodded in return. When he reached the head of the army, he slowed his horse to a stop, staring in horror. Wooden planks were crossed into an x shape. Flayed corpses were tied to the planks of wood, then lit on fire. Emmelyne could smell burning flesh from her spot.  
Across the field stood the Bolton troops, the flayed man waving in breeze. Their shields were painted with a flayed man. Ramsay rode to the head of his army, leading Rickon on a rope leash. He hopped down from his horse, walking further out. When he had reached his spot, he drew his sword, raising it high in the air. Emmelyne lowered her head, waiting for the moment when he killed Rickon. Jon leaped down off of his horse, running forward. Rickon closed his eyes, his head bowed. But when Ramsay lowered his sword, he did not kill Rickon. He cut the ropes bound to his wrists. Emmelyne looked up, eyebrows furrowed. She slowly moved to Jon's side.  
Ramsay smiled slightly as he spoke to Rickon. "Do you like games, little man? Let's play a game. Run to your brother and sister. The sooner you make it to them, the sooner you get to see them again. That's it. That's the game. Easy. Ready? Go."  
He pushed Rickon forward.  
Emmelyne tried to focus on seeing what would happen. _Rickon was running. He was almost to Jon. Ramsay's arrows were barely missing him. "Em!" he cried, reaching out to grab her hand.  
An arrow flew through his chest._  
She stiffened, trying her best to think of a solution. Rickon slowly started walking forward. "No," Ramsay told him, "you have to run, remember? Those are the rules."  
A man stepped to Ramsay's side, handing him a bow. Emmelyne thought about how Rickon was running. He ran in a straight line in her vision, so if he ran in all different directions, perhaps he could dodge the arrows.  
The moment Rickon saw the bow, he began to run. Jon spun around, climbing up onto his horse. Ramsay took the bow, nocking an arrow. Emmelyne's own bow felt heavy on her shoulder. "Hyah!" Jon cried, urging his horse forward.  
Tormund stepped to the front of the army, watching nervously. Emmelyne focused on Ramsay, seeing where he was aiming. The first arrow missed Rickon by a foot, but she knew this was only a test. Ramsay nocked another arrow. Jon continued forcing his horse forward, and Emmelyne hurried for her horse as well.  
Rickon looked small as he ran across the field. Ramsay didn't look when he loosed this arrow. "Rickon, go right!" Emmelyne cried, urging her horse forward as fast as it could.  
He followed the advice, just barely avoiding the arrow. "Come on!" she was shouting.  
Another arrow was nocked. Jon reached down, preparing to grab Rickon. This arrow landed in front of Rickon, who trampled it underfoot. Jon looked at Emmelyne, pulling back just enough to let her go ahead of him. Her horse whinnied loudly, and she reached down, prepared to grab Rickon.  
"Go left!" she screamed as another arrow sailed toward him.  
He swerved left, the arrow grazing his arm. Ramsay's face flashed with anger. She swept Rickon up on to her horse. Emmelyne let out a cry of joy. She did it. She'd made sure Rickon survived. "Em!" he cried.  
She laughed softly, letting her horse slow to a halt. "Get off," she instructed. "Run back as far from the field as you can. Don't come back until someone has won."  
"What if Ramsay wins?" the young boy asked, a fearful look in his brown eyes.  
She shook her head. "He won't, Rickon. I promise."  
But she couldn't promise it. She'd had no vision. Didn't know how the battle was going to unfold. Rickon began to climb from the horse's back. "Did you see? Did you see us winning?"  
Emmelyne's smile faded, and she blew hair out of her face. "Yes," she said, after a long pause. "That's what I saw. Now get running, Rickon. We don't want you getting hurt."  
He smiled at her, turning and sprinting off toward the direction of their army.  
It was then that Emmelyne realized she was in the center of the field, Ramsay staring her down, his blue eyes burning with rage. He was shaking, eying her with an intensity that shook Emmelyne to her core. She tried to mask her fear. The Bolton and Stark eyes locked together, and Emmelyne smiled.


	53. Chapter Fifty-Two: The End

Emmelyne slowly returned to the head of the army, looking back at Davos who shouted a command. "Prepare to charge."  
He began to repeat the order, rallying the men into their ranks. Emmelyne adjusted herself on her horse, brushing her fingers against one of her arrows. It was time. "Draw!" someone was shouting.  
The command was repeated.  
"Loose!"  
Arrows flew into the sky. Jon started riding forward. "Go!" Davos urged. "Go! Follow your commander!"  
There was shouting when they began following Jon. "Run and fight!"  
It was a complete frenzy. Emmelyne struggled to control her horse, which was going wild. The giant, Wun Wun, roared and joined the running group. It all seemed to be in slow motion.  
Jon was far ahead of the rest of the army, but Emmelyne was catching up to him fast. "Nock!"  
Ramsay climbed up onto his horse. "Draw!"  
Emmelyne's breathing sped up. "Loose!"  
Emmelyne felt herself sink as her horse caught an arrow in the throat. Jon's was felled as hit the ground, rolling away from the corpse of his horse. Emmelyne managed to stumble to her feet, not allowing herself to fall.  
Ramsay grinned from the front of his army. "Now," he stated.  
"Cavalry charge!" his men shouted.  
Jon managed to get to his feet, holding his leg. Emmelyne looked up at him, offering a weak smile of encouragement. But then Jon froze. She turned, and her gray eyes went wide. The Bolton army was charging at them at full force. "Fuck," Emmelyne breathed out.  
The word seemed to linger in the air.  
Jon nodded slowly to himself, urging himself that this is what had to happen.  
He drew his sword, and Emmelyne mimicked him. The weight of her blade felt... wrong. She hadn't had enough training with a sword. She was damn good with arrows, but now wasn't the time for her bow. Now she needed to get in close. "Protect me, R'hllor. Do not let my light be extinguished on this day. On this day where I shall prove myself. On this day where we shall take back our home."  
She watched Jon first be engulfed by the force of the Bolton army. Then she was surrounded by them as well.  
The sound of horse's hooves thundered around her, broken only by the occasional shouting. Stark and Bolton soldiers began falling all around Emmelyne, who tried to remove herself from the bulk of the fighting. She saw a man be flung backward over his own horse. "Nock!"  
A man fell from his horse, but managed to remain on his feet. He charged toward Emmelyne. She swung her sword, slicing his head off swiftly. For the second time, she had purposefully killed someone. "Nock!"  
Commands were said and repeated, and before Emmelyne could process what was happening, arrows flew from Ramsay's side, but not the Stark's. She avoided them the best she could, letting a few labored breaths escape her. More men and horses fell around her. Emmelyne could vaguely see Jon, trying to dodge rampaging horses.  
A man fell on the ground, and Emmelyne saw a red that was not blood. A red kerchief. A thousand thoughts went through Emmelyne's mind, and she raced to Robert Marsh's side. She felt nothing for the young man that lay dying before her. Nothing except for sympathy. What she had assumed was a night of low inhabitations and exhilaration, he had felt was one of love. Of true feelings. And now he was dying.  
Green eyes raised to lock with Emmelyne's. "Hello, Demon," he said, a weak smile forming on his freckled cheeks. "You spotted me. Just like I thought you would."  
He coughed, and the sympathy hit Emmelyne once more. "I'm sorry," she offered him. "I'm sorry this has happened to you."  
His tanned hands covered a wound in his chest, a large, gaping wound that no healer would be able to fix. "I've lived a happy life," he said slowly. "A short one, but a happy one. The battle is still happening, Demon. You should continue the fight. Win it. Please."  
Emmelyne didn't know why she was crying. "I will. I'll win this."  
The green eyes closed, and they did not open. But the smile remained on his face.  
Robert Marsh appeared to only be sleeping, but that was not the case. Emmelyne stood slowly.  
The battle was still happening.  
A man came for Emmelyne, who stood her ground. He was dead before he hit the ground.  
The killing came naturally to her. She stood in her place, killing whoever dared to come near Robert Marsh.  
From his place, Jon caught her gaze. Neither said a word, but something was shared between them. Something neither of them knew how to define. The moment ended quickly, and they continued to fight. "Loose!"  
Emmelyne was forced to move when the arrows came this time. Pain ripped through her side, and when she raised her pale hand, it was drenched with blood. "R'hllor, do not let my light extinguish."  
She repeated this like a mantra, fighting through her pain. "Loose!"  
Robert Marsh's body was riddled with arrows and covered with other corpses. "Loose!"  
The color red had been Emmelyne's safety. It was the color of her religion. It was the color of the tunic and trousers she wore beneath her red stained armor. But now, red was anger. Red was hatred and pain, and the color that stemmed from Robert Marsh's corpse.  
A pile of bodies had begun to amass at the edge of the battlefield. Davos's archers joined the fight now. Ramsay instructed his archers to do the same.  
"Who owns the North? We do!"  
"No you fucking don't," Emmelyne hissed und her breath  
She saw Tormund kill someone who was attacking Jon. Wun Wun threw aside a horse that was riding toward him. The Stark soldiers were herded into a circle by the Boltons, who's shields, painted with a flayed man, acted as barricades. They forced the circle tighter and tighter, anyone who was at the edges was killed by spears.  
Emmelyne tried to find Jon, but found herself stumbling over the felled corpses on the ground. She finally returned to the middle of the circle, sitting herself down beside Robert Marsh. She could wait if she had to. Wait for death to come knocking on her door. She pushed aside the bodies that covered Robert's, and she stared down at his peaceful face. "I'll be joining you soon," she murmured. "Frog Eater."  
She accepted that this was the end. The end of her life. The end of everything that Jon, Sansa, and she were fighting for. It was a harsh reality, but one that she accepted. She closed her gray eyes for what she thought would be the last time, and waited. "I'm ready, R'hllor."  
Screams of pain surrounded her. "Not much longer," she whispered.


	54. Chapter Fifty-Three: Conquer

The Demon of Winterfell sat in the middle of an army. Men were dying all around. She accepted a fate of death, clutching tightly to the cold hand of Robert Marsh. Vyreo's voice echoed all around her. "You will be the one, the Prince that was Promised… or, Princess… that was Promised."  
"You were wrong," she whispered. "Terribly, terribly wrong."  
But then her feelings shifted. A renewed strength overwhelmed her, blinding the pain in her side. She had to win. She had to prove that she'd done something. She had to prove Vyreo right, that she was something. She was a force to be reckoned with.  
Emmelyne stood up, moving to look at the edges of the circle, where what looked like a mountain of bodies loomed. Bolton soldiers were climbing it, taking Starks to the ground with ease. Davos shouted a command, urging their men to fight. To win.  
More Boltons came for Emmelyne, but she slashed through them without a second thought. Wun Wun began throwing aside the shielded men. Tormund slammed himself against one of the rows, letting out a glorious battle cry. Others followed him closely. The Stark men fought with a vigilance, but they were still not winning. Emmelyne saw Wun Wun twist a man and rip him in half.  
"Infantry, advance!"  
The Starks were herded into an even tighter circle. "Both sides!" someone cried.  
They inched back, trying to avoid the spears. "Fall back!"  
"Fuck this, come on!" Tormund shouted at his wildling companions.  
"We're going home!"  
It was hard for Emmelyne to process every thing that was happening. She saw Tormund fighting with Smalljon Umber, but couldn't tell who was winning. That was, until, Tormund was knocked to the ground.  
Jon lie on the ground, men trampling over him in their hastes. He gasped for air each time their feet hit his chest. "Jon!" Emmelyne screamed, trying to find him in the crowd.  
A man rounded on her, aiming for her legs. She attempted to dodge him, leaping back. A pain burned in her ankle as he swung his blade, knocking her to the ground. He advanced, grinning broadly. "So long, Demon."  
That was when flame ripped through his chest. He was stood straight, his arms wide as fire burst from everywhere it could. Emmelyne's eyes went wide. Three more men all on her sides ignited, screaming horribly. "Seven hells," she whispered, her breath shuddering.  
Her side pained her too much to allow her to stand. Even if it weren't hurting her so badly, the blood draining from her ankle proved her legs would give out the minute she tried to stand. The strange strength which had rejuvenated her before had faded. Emmelyne was covered completely in blood. Embers floated to the ground all around her like fresh snow flakes. "Thank you, R'hllor, but you can stop trying," she said. "It is done. We are losing this fight."  
A man stumbled toward her, his entire body drenched in blood and sweat. He started to raise his sword, before letting out a scream of pain. Emmelyne saw the blade of a sword, pushing through his chest. She did not recognize the man who had killed him, but she noted the sigil of House Reed on his armor. "Emmelyne Stark," he acknowledged, before turning back to join the fight.  
She smiled weakly, coughing. "R'hllor, it is the end," she said. "We are defeated. Let this pain stop. Let me die."  
Jon Snow, not far from Emmelyne, surrounded by men, managed to climb to the top of the masses. He took in a few long, agonizing gasps for air.  
Wun Wun continued throwing men aside from nearby Emmelyne. She realized he was making a clearing as he did this. He let out a roar of pain when a man shoved a spear into his side.  
Smalljon Umber and Tormund continued their fight.  
And then, a horn was blowing.  
There was a moment of pause, broken only by a cry of pain as Tormund ripped out Smalljon's throat with his teeth, then proceeded to stab him the neck.  
The banners of House Arryn waved in the breeze, the white falcon with a crescent moon.  
None of the army could see them, but Sansa and Littlefinger sat side-by-side at the top of a hill, Rickon and R'hllor stood with them. Sansa was smiling.  
The Arryn men broke through the circle of Bolton's, joining the battle. Emmelyne let out a cry of joy from her spot on the ground, propping herself into a sitting position. A man rode toward her on horseback. She noted the sigil adorning his armor, the black, broken wheel of House Waynwood. He leapt from the back of his horse, looking around anxiously. "Can you stand, Lady Stark?" he asked, and Emmelyne shook her head.  
He nodded, lowering and helping her to her feet. Emmelyne barely had time to ask questions before he was helping her onto his horse. "Ride for the hill," he stated. "Lord Baelish and Lady Sansa are waiting with you brother and your direwolf."  
Emmelyne nodded.  
He slapped the horse's side, urging it forward before drawing his sword and clearing away the men at Emmelyne's sides. The horse broke into a gallop, going toward the hill.  
Emmelyne didn't allow the horse to go to the hill, however. She turned it around, urging it nearer to the direction of Winterfell. The Starks would soon need to attack the castle, and she wasn't going to sit idly by and wait for it all to be done.  
Ramsay turned on his horse and began riding back to the castle. Emmelyne followed him.  
When she looked back, Jon, Tormund, and Wun Wun were close behind her.  
They reached the castle quickly.  
Wun Wun smashed his way through the gate, uncaring of the onslaught of arrows that flew at him. The moment he was through the gates, Wun Wun crumpled. He fell to his knees, blood pouring from a spear wound in his hand. Jon ran to him, and Emmelyne rode closer to his side. Wun Wun groaned with pain as the arrows continued to fly. He let out a roar, his breath leaving a mist in the cool air. The Stark soldiers rushed in around him.  
Emmelyne slowly reached out to Wun Wun, placing her hand on his arm. "Stark," he let out weakly, looking down at her.  
Tormund rushed in next, his eyes falling on Wun Wun. Jon looked between Emmelyne and Wun Wun. He reached out to the giant as well.  
An arrow flew forward, hitting the giant in the eye. There was blood.  
Wun Wun fell forward, landing on the ground, dead. "No," Emmelyne whispered. "No, please."  
She looked up, her eyes falling on Ramsay Bolton. He smirked, lowering his bow before looking at Jon and shrugging. "You suggested one-on-one combat, didn't you?" he asked.  
Stark soldiers raised their bows, staring Ramsay down. He looked around at all of them, laughing slightly. "I've reconsidered. I think that sounds like a wonderful idea."  
He nocked an arrow, and Jon reacted quickly. He dropped, picking up a shield and raising it to block his face. Ramsay loosed an arrow, and it made a thudding sound as it hit the wooden shield. He tried again, but was deflected once more. Each arrow was avoided swiftly.  
Jon let out a shout, swinging his shield back and knocking Ramsay to the ground. He dropped down, punching Ramsay hard in the face. He continued this, giving no signs of stopping.  
Ramsay's teeth shattered and broke in his mouth.  
By the time Jon was done, Ramsay's face was a ruin.  
Sansa, Littlefinger, Rickon, and R'hllor entered the yard. R'hllor moved to Emmelyne's side, nudging her horse with his nose.  
A man moved to join him, and Emmelyne recognized him as the one who given her the horse. "You don't listen very well, Lady Stark," he noted.  
"I had to see us win," she said in response.  
The man nodded hesitantly. "I'll find a maester to tend to your injuries. You can't walk, so I'll have to bring one out here."  
"Thank you," she said. "Ser...?"  
"Markus," he smiled. "Markus Waynwood."


	55. Chapter Fifty-Four: Stags

When the banners were dropped, Emmelyne watched from an infirmary. She watched the flayed man crumple to the dirt, and watched the direwolf replace it. A maester had bandaged and sewn her wounds. R'hllor had sat, whimpering outside the door until they finally allowed him inside. And once the maester was done, Markus Waynwood sat by Emmelyne's door.  
When Emmelyne managed to really look at Markus, she realized that he was quite handsome. He had short, dark hair the color of coal. His eyes were a deep azure. He seemed kind enough, though she hadn't spoken with him very much.  
Ramsay was dead. Not by Jon's hands, but by Sansa, who had sent his own dogs after him. They'd ripped him apart, eaten his flesh and left his corpse in the dungeons.  
Winterfell belonged, once more, to the noble and honorable House Stark.  
Emmelyne supposed she should be happy about that. But she couldn't be happy. She felt... numb. And for the first time in her life, cold.  
Emmelyne was unsure of how long she'd been in this infirmary. Longer than a day, she knew that, but everything besides that was a blurred haze. The maester had given her milk of the poppy for the pain, and the effects of it had left her sleeping for a long time.  
When she finally felt like she were able to stand, she did. Her legs were weak and each step pained her greatly, but still, Emmelyne found herself nearing the great hall. When she peeked through the crack in the door, she saw two figures. Jon and the Red Woman.  
They seemed to have just finished speaking to each other.  
The door creaked when Emmelyne pushed it open, and suddenly two pairs of eyes were on her. "I see you're walking around," Jon noted. "Your ankle feeling better?"  
"Better than it did at first," Emmelyne replied.  
Footsteps sounded behind her, and she turned to see Davos entering the hall as well. "Ser Davos," she greeted pleasantly, but he did not answer her.  
He walked briskly, with purpose, up to Jon and Melisandre. His blue eyes were dark with anger as he tossed something to Melisandre. She caught it, turning it over in her hands. It was a carved wooden stag.  
Melisandre was suddenly stiff. She looked at the floor.  
"What is that?" Jon asked.  
"Yes, what is it?" Emmelyne added.  
"Tell them," Davos stated.  
His typically kind manner was gone. This was a man who had surpassed anger. Who had surpassed rage.  
Melisandre did not speak.  
"Tell them who it belonged to."  
There was a moment of hesitation. When Melisandre answered, her voice was wavering. "The Princess Shireen."  
Emmelyne felt her heart sink.  
"Tell them what you did to her," Davos stated.  
She said nothing.  
"Tell them!" he roared.  
Melisandre seemed to be choosing her words carefully. "We burned her at the stake."  
Jon's eyes went wide.  
Emmelyne just stared.  
Davos choked back a sob. "Why?" he asked.  
"The army was trapped. The horses were dying. It was the only way."  
"You have no defense," Emmelyne stated.  
Davos shook angrily. "You burned a little girl alive!"  
"I only do what my lord commands. What Emmelyne's lord commands," Melisandre tried.  
"If he commands you to burn children, your lord is evil."  
"We are standing here because of him. Jon Snow is alive because the Lord willed it."  
"I loved that girl like she was my own. She was good. She was kind. And you killed her!"  
"So did her father. So did her mother. Her own blood knew it was the only way."  
"The only way for what?" Emmelyne demanded.  
Rage surged through her. Her blood felt as if it were boiling. Even the tears that were now streaming down her cheeks felt hot. "What good did her death do you?! The Baratheon army was destroyed! Stannis is dead! Selyse is dead! You should be dead, you... you..." she couldn't think of anything more to say, and it seemed like Melisandre understood.  
Davos looked between Emmelyne and Melisandre before he spoke again. "You told everyone Stannis was the one. You had him believing it, all of them fooled. And you lied."  
"I didn't lie," Melisandre said. "I was wrong."  
"Aye, you were wrong. How many died because you were wrong?"  
When Melisandre didn't answer, Emmelyne stepped closer to her. "Murderer," she hissed. "You... you filthy witch. Murderous and hateful. She was a child. Our lord would never... our lord wouldn't... R'hllor would never, ever command you to burn a little girl! Look at me and tell me that you did the right thing."  
But the Red Woman did not speak.  
Her blue eyes were wide with shock. Jon was still. And Davos slowly moved to Emmelyne's side, wrapping a comforting arm around her shoulders. There was silence for a long time. Davos looked at Jon. "I ask your leave to execute this woman for murder. She admits to the crime."  
Melisandre looked at Jon expectantly. "Do you have anything to say for yourself?" he asked her.  
"I've been ready to die for many years. If the Lord was done with me, so be it, but he's not. You've seen the Night King, Jon Snow. You know the great war is still to come. You know the army of the dead will be upon us soon. And you know I can help you win that war," she replied.  
Jon slowly stepped forward, looking her in the eyes. "Ride south today," he stated. "If you return to the North, I'll have you hanged as a murderer."  
Melisandre nodded. She lowered the wooden stag onto the table, turning and walking toward the door. Emmelyne stopped her, grabbing her wrist tightly. Melisandre winced with pain, barely even looking at Emmelyne as she spoke. "If you ever come back," she stated, "I'll kill you myself. Murderous cunt."  
She dropped Melisandre's wrist, allowing her to leave the great hall. What she didn't see was the red, blistering burn on the Red Woman's wrist in shape of a hand.


	56. Epilogue

_Winter is here_. This was the one phrase Emmelyne heard as she walked back toward the infirmary. The white raven had flown from the Citadel, and the snow had begun to fall. "Father was always right," she whispered to herself.  
Servants bowed to her while she walked. It was strange, to say the least. All she could think about was Robb. The self-proclaimed 'King in the North.' She wondered if he'd been bowed to wherever he went. Emmelyne missed her big brother. She missed her father. She missed Arya, wherever she was. She missed Bran. Emmelyne even admitted to herself that she missed her mother.  
Catelyn had tried to be a good mother. Emmelyne knew that now. She'd smashed the ruby because she thought- knew- that it was harming her daughter. "I was only sixteen," Emmelyne tried to tell herself. "I know what I did was wrong because I'm older now."  
She supposed that she was about twenty-two, and that was funny to her. It was funny to think that she'd spent years traveling and hiding. Learning from Cersei Lannister. Being tortured by a cruel boy king who was murdered at his own wedding. Falling in love with Sandor Clegane. Meeting the Brotherhood Without Banners.  
She wondered what adventures she'd have next.  
She wondered about all of the things she'd experienced.  
Emmelyne concluded that there was more to come.  
That there were things she would never be able to prepare for.


	57. AN

There is going to be a sequel, don't worry. I just figured that this was a good place to wrap up for now.


End file.
